It's the ones you love that can hurt you the most
by kapiushon17
Summary: A different take on the scene in which Malcolm kidnaps Oliver in the season 1 finale 'Sacrifice' - featuring a very dark Moira Queen, lots of Oliver whump and torture and finally hurt/comfort with a hint of Olicity.
1. Chapter 1

The room was dimly lit, the moonlight being filtered by the thick curtains hanging in front of the window.

Oliver lay in his bed, tossing and turning, caught in a nightmare. Suddenly, a creaking floorboard made him jump up, only to feel the familiar prick of a dart hitting his neck.

Seconds later, he felt the sedative in his system, slowing his reaction. He lifted his hand, pulling the dart out, but felt that it was too late already. Nevertheless Oliver jumped up and tried to get a look at the intruder. He was swaying on his feet, his step towards the black-dressed person that stood near the door tentative and slow. Before he could reach the person, his legs gave out under him and Oliver crashed to the floor, banging his head at the nightstand.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was a malicious half-smile.

And Oliver Queen lay on the floor, defeated.

He woke to a dull pain in his shoulders and arms and groaned softly, hesitantly opening his eyes to take in his surroundings. Blinding white light was all his brain registered before he screwed them shut again. Oliver's head throbbed in the rhythm of his heartbeat and he felt slightly nauseous due to the sedative they pumped into his system. His body seemed to have developed allergies to all kinds of narcotics or painkillers in the five years he had been away, as Oliver had come to realize soon after his return, and the combination of this and the possible concussion he had from falling onto that stupid nightstand made him feel like he had to puke, but he suppressed the sensation to focus on the situation at hand.

More carefully this time, he tried to open his eyes again. Once they had adjusted to the bright spotlight that was directed on him, he could finally see where he was. The room he was in looked like a large, empty warehouse, furnished with nothing but the spotlight and two chairs standing in the shadows behind it. It didn't have any windows, but there were two doors leading into it, one right in front of Oliver behind the chairs and one to his right side. Both were firmly shut, but Oliver feared that this would change any minute. After all, why would someone bother with tying him up somewhere, if they didn't have any intention to do something with him?

He was tied up by someone who knew what they were doing. The pain in his arms came from the fact that he basically hung from his wrists, his feet barely touching the ground. Heavy iron manacles held his arms up, fixed at long chains which were in turn fixed at a metal pipe at the ceiling. Oliver estimated that it were maybe thirty feet to the pipe. Maybe, that would provide him just the opportunity he needed to get out of here.

And he desperately had to get out. The Undertaking was about to happen. He needed to get into his suit, needed to get out, needed to stop it from happening. Oliver couldn't allow himself to think of what would happen if he failed. He silently cursed Diggle for convincing him to get a few hours of sleep, even if it was for the first time in days. He had barely been able to function any longer, though, losing his focus every few seconds, so it had probably been for the best to make him rest. Because Oliver knew better than anyone that a mistake could be fatal out there. And not just for himself, but for everyone involved.

Oliver couldn't focus on that right now, though. Instead, he clamped down on the pain, the nausea and the exhaustion. He could give in to that later, once the city was safe again. With turning his body around, he twisted the chains with each other, then pushed himself off the floor and started climbing. If he managed to get close to the top, he could probably break the chains off the pipe with the momentum of falling back down. Adrenaline helped him to push on, and soon he was almost twenty-five feet over the ground.

In the shades down below him, three people had entered the hall, unseen by Oliver, who was focused on his task. A man and a woman smiled at each other before giving the other man a short signal. He pulled a lever, and suddenly, the left chain gave a sharp pull. Oliver lost his grip on the other, dropping until his fall was suddenly stopped, estimatedly five feet from where he'd been before.

He clamped his mouth shut to hide the scream that threatened to escape him as he felt his left shoulder dislocate. He groaned, trying to control his rapid breathing and get a grip on the pain, when suddenly, the left chain went slack and the right one tightened. The drop was worse, this time. He ended up maybe ten feet over the ground, whole right arm screaming in agony. He couldn't hold his own scream in this time, either. Something had snapped in his wrist, and his shoulder felt like it had been downright torn out of its socket. Definitely a dislocation, probably even connected to a broken arm, he thought.

With his left hand, Oliver was desperately groping for the other chain to take at least some weight off the injured joint, but the chain hung slack and deprived him of support.

One last signal of the people in the shadows made the chains slack completely and Oliver collided with the floor with an ugly thud, his right ankle giving out under his weight and his left knee taking the brunt force of the impact. Another agonized groan came out of his mouth and he stayed where he collapsed, trembling but unmoving.

It took him a while to focus through the pain enough to form a somewhat coherent thought, but once the black dots had cleared from his vision, he carefully lifted his head and looked around, trying to assess his surroundings. He didn't see anyone, but knew that his attacker couldn't be far. But if they didn't show themselves right now, he would first turn to some equally important things, like trying to get back into fighting shape.

He knew that he needed to somehow set his shoulders, which were radiating white-hot pain just while he was lying there. He barely wanted to imagine how much worse that would get if he tried to move. But he also knew that with every minute they stayed dislocated, the pain would grow and the consequences of the injury might possibly get irreversible.

The fall had made him land on his stomach, his arms twisted over his head. Since the left shoulder was hurt a bit less severely, Oliver decided to start with that one and work his way on from there. Painstakingly slow, he tried to position the arm so it lay completely parallel to his body, so that with rolling over that side, the shoulder should reposition itself. If it didn't break completely…

Oliver bit his tongue in order not to make sounds of pain. He had to be fast; the procedure would hurt as it was, but if he prolonged it unnecessarily, it would do no good.

Slowly, he rolled onto his left side until he started pushing against the aching joint. At this point he stilled for a second, taking a deep breath, before suddenly gathering momentum and pushing his body around.

He couldn't hide a small cry of pain when the shoulder slipped back into the socket, and just lay on his back for a short while, taking deep breaths against the pain that had faded a little now, but was still all too prominent.

Moving the arm carefully, he now proceeded with softly examining his other arm. The shoulder was completely misshapen, swollen almost twice its size already. A few inches underneath, Oliver felt a bulge in his arm, too – broken, just as he'd thought. How should he possibly be able to reset this on his own, without hurting himself even worse?

With slow movements and groaning in barely suppressed pain he managed to move the right arm down so that the shackled wrist lay on his chest. It was hurt badly, too, the skin under the manacle almost completely torn off. The white tip of a bone showed underneath. But there was absolutely nothing he could do in this place right now.

Instead, he turned back to his shoulder. His right hand braced on his chest, he gripped his elbow with the left hand and pulled. The scream that tore from his throat seemed inhuman. Pain shot from his shoulder right through the broken arm and into every fingertip as the joint moved painstakingly slow back into place. He pressed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to suppress the whimper that wanted to escape. But he would not show that weakness.

Right in that moment, as he was at his lowest, having let his guard down due to the pain, the woman stepped into the light. She moved towards Oliver, her eyes shining with hate and malice. He didn't see her coming until a foot kicked his injured knee. Not having felt that much of it before, Oliver now almost whined at the burning agony that shot through his leg. His eyes flew open, taking in his attacker. And what he saw almost made Oliver's heart stop.


	2. Chapter 2

_And what he saw almost made Oliver's heart stop._

"Mom?" he asked in disbelief. "What…?"

Moira looked at her son for a second with ice-cold eyes before kicking him in the stomach and driving all air out of his lungs.

"Don't speak to me like that!" she demanded, her voice as hard as steel. "You are not my son. Oliver died six years ago, and what came back from that god-forsaken island is nothing but an arrogant murderer, hiding under a pathetic mask! You mean nothing to me, except for the fact that you endanger me and my daughter, as well as the worthy part of the city by trying to prevent our Undertaking from happening."

Oliver couldn't think clearly anymore. He couldn't believe his eyes. His _mother_ stood in front of him, obviously the one responsible for locking him up here, and, if he could trust her words, she was responsible for the Undertaking as well. And what the hell was this whole talk about him not being her son? Merely a day ago, he had sat at the table with her for a family dinner. And now she not only knew that he was the vigilante, but also accused him of arrogantly murdering people and therefore endangering Thea, his baby sister. The whole scene seemed surreal, and for once, Oliver had no idea whatsoever of how to handle the situation.

"The-the earthquake… Have you…?" Oliver's voice shook in disbelief, and it seemed impossible for him to voice his raging thoughts. But Moira just nodded in pride and turned around to another person who was just stepping out of the shadows.

"Me, and my genius partner, Malcolm Merlyn. We are truly going to save the city. Cleanse it of the scum living at the edges of our proud society. And neither you nor anyone else will be able to stop us." Moira smiled at Malcolm who returned the gesture with an almost business-like mask that didn't quite manage to hide the smug satisfaction he felt over his impending success.

From his place on the floor, Oliver could do little more than stare up to them, the gears turning in his brain. But there was one certainty that was stronger than any doubts Moira's speech woke in him. This whole thing wasn't like his mother! Malcolm must have managed to pull her into this somehow, maybe by threatening her, and he just had to find the right words to address her, and all this would end. Holding on to that thought he propped himself slightly up on his left elbow and spoke up.

"Don't you help him! He is a psychopath who would tell you anything to get you on his side. I don't know what he did to convince you, if he threatened us, or promised you some kind of reward, but whatever it is, you don't have to become a mass-murderer just to do his bidding! I know you, Mom, and _that_ isn't you!"

In a split second Moira was on him, the heel of her shoe digging into Oliver's throat and depriving him of oxygen.

"The next time you call me your mother, I will have your tongue cut out! And don't you dare implying you knew what I'm like. We are partners, me and Malcolm, and there is nothing I'd rather do. I will enjoy every second of seeing the people in the Glades suffer, and you along with them. You are not my son!"

Malcolm chuckled softly as Oliver tried, and failed, to pry Moira's heel off his neck with weak arms and shaky fingers.

"Well, Moira, I must admit you give our relationship little credit by calling us partners. After all, there is so much more than business connecting us, isn't there?"

Moira gave him a smile that was oozing with overdone sweetness. Without taking her eyes off Oliver or lifting her foot off his neck, for that matter, she turned towards Malcolm and gave him a long kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Oliver couldn't turn away, and even if his airway hadn't been restricted, he wouldn't have been able to breathe. The betrayal hurt worse than the fall had, and Moira laughed slightly as she saw the pain in his eyes.

When she finally released Malcolm and let go of Oliver's neck, unshed tears were burning behind his lids.

"How do you dare, Moira? You betrayed our father's memory, and you lied to Thea about it. How could you do that to her? Do you have any idea how much this will hurt her? I thought you loved _her_, at least!" His voice was scratchy and even without the threat looming over him, Oliver wouldn't have been able to call her his mother.

Moira laughed. "Oh, Oliver, if only you knew! Thea… she shouldn't feel bad about me betraying Robert. And neither should you, because if I hadn't done it, she wouldn't even exist. Do you understand now, Oliver? Thea isn't even your full sister, and Malcolm… Malcolm has been part of our family for eighteen years now."

"No." Oliver whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No, that's not possible. I… I would've known… Thea would've known… This can't be right!"

He looked up at the two people towering above him, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"I don't believe this!" he suddenly shouted. "It's not right! Something doesn't add up; this can't be true."

"Oliver, come on, I knew you weren't the brightest, but even you must be able to connect the dots here. A blond-haired mother, a blond-haired father – where do you think Thea got her genes from?" Malcolm now asked, sneering down at Oliver, who seemed to have come to the only reasonable conclusion.

"Why?", he asked his mother, sounding heartbroken. Why are you telling me this now?"

"Well, for one, because I knew just what an impact the truth would have on you. And that will help us, the further we get into completing our plans. And secondly, because I don't think any harm will come from you knowing the truth. You've always tried to protect your sister by keeping secrets from her. So what's one more? And once she finds out that you lied to her both about being the vigilante and about her true parents… It's going to shatter every kind of relationship the two of you ever had. And then, finally, you'll be well and truly on your own."

Oliver's heart shattered upon hearing just how thoroughly his mother had planned his defeat. But there was one thing she hadn't calculated with, one thing in his life that couldn't be corrupted by her twisted plans: his friends. Felicity and Diggle were still out there, looking for a way to stop the Undertaking, and as soon as they realized that he wasn't coming back from his nap, they would be looking for him as well. When he tried to hold on to that one thought with all his might, everything else didn't seem quite as bleak, either.

"No, you're forgetting one point. I have friends out there, friends who will keep fighting despite everything you might do to me. You think that just because you have me locked up in here, there will be no complications? Well, think again. Because they will do anything, _everything_, to stop you. I trust them with my life. And you don't stand a chance."

Oliver's voice was calm and reasonable, and he looked Moira right in the eyes, his gaze never wavering.

For a few seconds, the room was silent. Then, Malcolm took one step forward and plunged his boot into Oliver's ribs. The archer curled around his stomach, unable to breathe because of what he was sure were broken ribs.

"Get him on his knees." Moira said with strained voice before both she and Malcolm turned away to sit down in the chairs just outside the spotlight.

"It's time to get the party started." Malcolm added, throwing one last hateful glance at their prisoner.

**NOTES: **

**Just for the record: I like Moira on the show, and I don't think she would be capable of any such thing. But I also love seeing Oliver suffer, and after all, that's what Fanfiction is for…**

**I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

**Cheers, Kapiushon17**


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTES: A little early Christmas present for you all. I hope you enjoy.**

**Warning: Oliver's torture is going to get graphic…**

"You're even colder than I would have given you credit for." Malcolm sounded impressed. They sat in the chairs now, intently watching their prisoner as he stifled a scream when the chains pulled at his hurt arms.

For a second, Moira considered his statement. Then she said, just loud enough for the words to reach Oliver, "To me, he's nothing but a pathetic criminal endangering our mission and our lives. Why should I possibly treat him any different?"

And Oliver heard her, all right. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening. What had he done to deserve such hatred? Of course, looking at his history, he could come up with many, many examples. But Moira didn't know of those, so why did she hate him so very much?

He tried to focus on positioning his body in the least painful way. His knee was searing agony, and he wished nothing more than to take some weight off it. But his arms were pulled up high above his head, and pain burned though them just as well from the continuous tension. Oliver shifted to the right side, willing his better knee to support his weight, and at the same time used his left arm to pull himself up a bit. This way, he could actually relax the more severely injured limbs, at least a bit.

Schooling his features to a blank mask, he looked up towards Moira and Malcolm. They were discussing something Malcolm held in his hand, but Oliver couldn't make out what it was.

In that moment, the door behind them opened and a man he hadn't seen before entered the room, carrying a laptop and a flat-screen TV.

He was tall, at least 6'3", with arms like logs and a bald head, covered in tattoos. What a cliché, Oliver couldn't help but think. He was dressed completely in black, even with fingerless gloves, maybe to make his appearance more threatening. But the only thing that actually made Oliver's muscles tense in worried anticipation was the look in his ice-blue eyes, full of malicious precision. This man knew what he was doing.

He moved to stand right in front of Oliver, and without a sound, he put his load down and busied himself with setting up the electronics.

This whole thing was starting to get ridiculous.

Looking past the man, Oliver focused on his mother.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?" he asked, his voice showing a hint of the frustration he was feeling.

"You'll find out soon enough." Moira answered. They still did nothing but sitting there, and it started to annoy Oliver.

But then, the screen was drawing his attention, because it suddenly lit up to show four scenes that made the whole situation painfully clear. They wanted him to watch the destruction of the Glades. Two parts of the screen showed strange-looking machines, and Oliver realized immediately that this was what he and his team had been searching for all along. Blue energy was captured in a glass cylinder, which in turn hung from a small crane that could obviously lower the thing to the ground. These were the tools that could trigger an earthquake. These were the Markov devices. And why were there two of them? Seeing them in reality for the first time intimidated Oliver more than he wanted to let on.

The next picture showed a scene of normal street life in the Glades. It was the late afternoon hours; the streets were filled with people who were on their way home from school or from their workplace. Not a single one of them had any idea of what might be about to happen.

It was the last picture, though, that made Oliver clench his teeth in frustration. It showed an office room, filled with people who were working, sitting at their desks, reading files and drinking coffee. It took Oliver a few seconds to recognize the place, but when he saw a blonde woman walk into the room and bend over the desk of another person to talk to her, the breath died in his throat.

"What is this?" he demanded. "Why are you showing me Laurel's office? And what the hell are you thinking to gain from showing me all this, anyway? I already told you once, that there is no way your plan is going to work out."

"Yes, yes, keep lying to yourself, Oliver. I can't wait to see how big you'll talk after we're through with you. But since you asked: CNRI is positioned in the Glades. One of our devices is set up close to the building. The Glades need to be eliminated, and it is her own fault that she's working there. Plus, it will be fun watching you as she dies…While you are unable to do anything whatsoever against it."

Moira stepped back into the light, now, and nodded once to the black-dressed man, who took that as a sign to stand up and turn to Oliver. He barely even saw the fist coming that hit his cheek. This guy was freaking fast!

Oliver spat blood on the floor before he looked up. In any other situation, he would have threatened his attackers, but despite everything that happened, despite everything that had yet to happen, she was still his mother. He couldn't say anything bad to her.

"Laurel was always like a child to you, Moira." he whispered, the emotional pain audible in his voice as he was practically pleading with his eyes.

"Certainly more than I seem to be now, maybe more than I ever was. She's got nothing to do with me being the Vigilante, and…and hurting you or Thea. And she's got nothing to do with anything you might find worth punishing in the Glades.

Please… I'm – I'm begging you. Just – stop his, let the people get out of there. I am sorry I cause you suffering; sorry I came back from the island a different person. I understand if you want to punish me .But I can't believe, I won't believe that you are doing all this out of hate for the Glades, or the people living there. There is nothing they did to deserve your hate.

Your anger is with me, so punish me, not them! Come on, Moira, you know I'm right. Defy Malcolm, and stop this! You don't have to follow him blindly."

Oliver stared at his mother, his eyes bright with adrenaline, despair, fear and anger. He just wasn't ready to give up yet.

Moira chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"You still don't get it, do you? Malcolm didn't force me to work with him, he didn't have to convince me to do anything. This is my plan just as much as his! The people in the Glades, they are useless parasites, living off the things we work so hard to achieve every day without giving anything back. They deserve everything that's coming for them.

Now, you say you want to save the city. I think you should be grateful that we are helping you achieve this goal, especially since I'm sure you won't continue with your vigilantism once we're through with you."

Oliver bit his swollen lip, looking down on the floor. For the first time, real fear began to creep into his mind. Moira seemed so very convinced of their success, and if he couldn't change her decision with talking, what else was he supposed to do?

Now Malcolm came out of the shadows as well, carrying the mysterious device they had been talking about earlier. It looked like a small black box with one big button in the center, and Oliver could imagine all too well what it was supposed to be. He stole another short glimpse at the screen, making sure that the scenes hadn't changed, before he turned his head up to look at them again.

"This is the trigger for the Markov devices." Malcolm confirmed Oliver's assumptions with a light smile.

"Once this button is pressed, the machines will be activated. However, they will only go off and cause the earthquake if the button is released again." He handed the trigger to the black-dressed man.

"Why the fuck are you telling me this? You want a compliment for your great plan or something?" Oliver snarled, his voice full of contempt.

"Well, Oliver, since you obviously have problems shutting this mouth of yours, we decided to help you with that. You will take the trigger into your mouth, pressing the button. And then we'll see how long you will manage to stay silent, while our friend here tries to…convince you to scream."

Oliver heard the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn't believe what was happening.

"How do I know they won't go off the moment I bite on it?" he spat, the anger raging like fire in his eyes.

Well, you don't. But, if you refuse, it will go off in ten seconds, as he presses it. It's your call." Moira answered with sickly sweet voice and a triumphant smile on her lips.

_Sure, it's completely my call._ Oliver thought, his heart sinking to his stomach. His emotions were at war while both Moira and Malcolm looked at him expectantly. He honestly didn't know if he could believe a single word they were saying. What if he took it, and the Markov devices would go off? It was unimaginable. But his other so-called choice was just as impossible. If he didn't take it, the earthquakes would happen nevertheless.

The whole thing was an impossible situation. Oliver swallowed hard.

"Five seconds." Moira said.

With big, fearful eyes Oliver looked up at her. There was no choice to make. Maybe, with taking it, he could delay the inevitable long enough for his team to disarm the devices. He bit his lip and closed his eyes before hesitantly opening his mouth.

It was incredibly mortifying when the trigger was lowered between his teeth, but he bit down on it nevertheless.

The second his teeth touched the button, one of the screens came to life. The light in the cylinder of the first Markov device seemed to glow brighter, and the thing was lowered until it touched the floor. A shockwave went out from the machine, debris went flying through the air and then the screen turned black.

"Don't let go now!" Moira hissed. "The second device is waiting just for that."

A new picture was replacing the dark screen, and Oliver sobbed through clenched teeth. His eyes shone with betrayal – and self-hate. He looked up to his tormentors, the accusation clear in his gaze.

"Now, now." Malcolm cooed. "Don't look at us like that. You know exactly who set the trigger off, you know who is to blame for this situation."

Oliver swallowed hard, focussing on his mother. His glare seemed to scream the words he couldn't say at her. _Liar!_ Tears of despair, anguish and mourning were rising in his eyes. But when Moira just smiled wordlessly down at him, he had to turn away and looked at the screen instead, where he was greeted with utter chaos.

At least the device that went off had been the one further away from Laurel's office; a short look at the screen showing it confirmed that, while the earthquake showed his influence even here in shaking lamps and thrown-over chairs, no one seemed to be in immediate danger. Maybe that would give the people there the time they needed to escape.

But the space that had formerly been filled with the first Markov device now showed a scene close to the center of the eruption, and here, it was evident that the people had little to no chance at escaping.

They were running over the street, obviously terrified, trying to escape flying debris from the collapsing houses and cracks in the asphalt. Everybody was panicking. At the corner of the street, the video showed a young girl, no more than seven years old, kneeling on the pavement. She was bent over a body that lay next to her, shaking the limp form and crying.

Oliver clenched his teeth so hard over the device that his jaw hurt. He felt sick from guilt and wanted to cry, but swallowed against it. He couldn't let them break him. With taking the device, he had failed these people once. Now, the least he could do was fighting not to repeat this mistake.

And if he broke, if he gave himself up and let the guilt overwhelm him – it would be the greatest failure he could possibly commit.

Forcing the tears and the lump in his throat back, Oliver deliberately looked away from the screen, locking his eyes with Moira's instead. He wanted to show her that he hadn't given up yet.

Moira smiled back.

"Come on, Oliver, I know you, and I can look right through that strong mask of yours. I can see that you're devastated, blaming yourself, and you are right to do so. But you can stop acting as someone else. This will be so much easier on both you and us if you just allow yourself to let go. There is nothing you can do anyway. So, open your mouth now, and we'll let you go. Or else…we'll just have to make you."

A dark chuckle escaped Oliver's mouth, sneaking past the device. If he hadn't been so desperate, Oliver would've rolled his eyes. First Moira told him that he wasn't her son, and now she claimed to know what he was like? Only to then tell him to just give up and kill all those people, which clearly showed that she didn't know him at all.

While he couldn't speak, his expression and his whole stance showed a clear "Go to hell."

"Oh, well." Malcolm sighed. "Let's get to it, then."

Both Moira and he moved to sit down again, and the other man presented a wickedly sharp knife. He still hadn't said a word, and in contrary to the people who usually tried to torture him (it was bad enough that he had something like the usual torture-situation), he was completely quiet. He actually did manage to freak Oliver out a little, though he would never admit that.

Instead, he stared right ahead, his features as blank as his torturer's.

The man moved to stand behind him, and when the knife first touched his skin, Oliver couldn't help himself but twitch a little.

He sliced through Oliver's t-shirt, each cut slow and deliberate, deeply cutting his skin in the process.

Oliver hissed every now and then, but mostly stayed silent. Yes, the cuts hurt, but they weren't bad enough to make him scream by a long shot. Oliver kept reminding himself that he's had worse, so much worse. This was nothing.

After a while, his shirt fell off him in bloody shreds and the man moved away for a second to discard the knife.

Oliver sneaked a short look at his body. There were long cuts running over his arms, one down his chest, and he could feel another one on his back. Blood ran down his arms, over his shoulders and down his torso and coloured his loose grey sweatpants in crimson.

His breathing was laboured and he felt slightly light-headed from blood loss, but Oliver had to admit that this man actually knew what he was doing. While the cuts were deep enough to hurt badly, they wouldn't kill him. No, they would definitely clot before he bled out. But they also served to keep him weak with how his head was swimming. Another advantage for Moira and Malcolm.

Since the man was on his way back, Oliver prepared himself for another round. He lifted his head defiantly, blazing eyes hiding any doubts and grief he was feeling.

A boot plunged into Oliver's stomach.

"I don't like the attitude you're giving me, kid." The man scowled as Oliver was bent over as far as his chains allowed, struggling to breathe through his nose without letting go of the trigger.

Kid. Oliver thought about the man who had first used this word for him. The situation had actually been kind of similar. Someone who he thought to be his friend, a person who was very close to him, suddenly went against all reason and held him captive, torturing him. At least Slade had the Mirakuru to blame. His mother…he couldn't think of a logical explanation for that.

When the man showed the tool he had brought with him, Oliver didn't know whether to laugh, because he had literally just compared this situation to another where just the same thing had been used, or to cry, because he had no idea how he should possibly be able to hold on when this thing as used on him.

His tormentor held a large taser, one Oliver was sure could deliver a deadly amount of electricity.

And electricity was one of the few things that actually freaked him out. He hated the way the current surged through his body, dismantling his defences, while he could do nothing against it. Hated that, while it barely left physical marks, it always left him shaking and aching all over. Hated that there was nothing, nothing at all, that he could do to hide his body's reaction to the unyielding pain.

"I'll start out easy. But this taser can, and will, shock you to unconsciousness. In the end, you'll lose the remote either way. You could spare us both the effort and let go now, or we can do this the hard way." The man confirmed every single one of Oliver's expectations.

But when he looked up again, Oliver's expression hadn't changed. He raised his eyebrows as though he wanted to say "Do your worst." The only thing showing his distress were his fists that were clenched around the chains, their grip so tight that his knuckles turned white.

The first shock made him jerk in his restraints and bite down even harder on the box in his mouth. Already, he was panting hard, sweat forming on his forehead.

The second was stronger, and made his legs falter. His whole weight hung at his arms again and he was shaking harder and harder.

From the third shock, tears rose in his eyes. He hung limply in the chains, barely able to breathe in pain. His breath came in short bouts through his nose and he closed his eyes, trembling.

After the fourth, he couldn't breathe at all anymore. Sheer willpower held his mouth closed as he desperately tried to figure out how to get his lungs working again. It felt like every cell was torn apart by the merciless current. The tears were streaming down his face now and he was shaking so badly he felt like he was breaking apart. Back with Slade, when he had tried to force Sara to give Hendrick up, this had been one stage before passing out. Back then, he had screamed his lungs out. Here, the sounds escaping him were more like small, breathless sobs.

He wouldn't be able to resist the current this time, either.

The final shock hit Oliver without preparation or warning. He seized, his whole body jerking, and from far, far away he heard himself scream.

But Oliver couldn't think about the trigger, or all the lives depending on it. All he felt was raging, burning agony, seemingly tearing him apart and igniting its destructive fire at every single one of his nerve endings.

And the pain just wouldn't stop. The taser continued to press into his skin, which sizzled from the electric burn.

Oliver was still screaming. Pain filled every one of his senses and at one point, he just couldn't stand it anymore and sank into blissful unconsciousness.

**NOTES: Please leave a review, if you have a minute. Thanks…**


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES: It's just a short one, sorry...****  
****But I couldn't let the last chapter end like this, so I was anxious to post more. Hope you enjoy!**

Seconds later, he was awoken by a bucket of ice-cold water. He jerked up, gasping for air and spitting out a mouthful of the foul-tasting liquid.

His body felt hypersensitive, and still, every cell hurt. He coughed weakly, wincing at the raw feeling in his throat. It took him a second to realize that it came from screaming.

Exhausted, he let his head hang down. Suddenly, he spotted the small black box in his blurry vision, lying innocently on the grey concrete floor. His head flew up, eyes fixing on the TV. By now, every single screen showed utter chaos and destruction.

He focused on the display showing Laurel's office. Tables were thrown over, dust lay in the air. Small pieces of plaster and sheets of paper covered the floor. But it couldn't have been more than a few seconds since the second Markov device went off, since the building was still standing, at least.

And Laurel was still in there, Oliver realized. She was bent over her desk, trying to collect some probably very important files. But they weren't more important than her life! She had to get out of there, right now.

Right in that moment, a larger piece of plaster fell off the ceiling, crashing to the floor right behind her. Laurel jumped in shock, and despite the TV being muted, Oliver thought he could hear her shriek.

"No! No, no, no, no…" Oliver whispered, almost like a prayer. "Get out of there, please Laurel, go, now."

As though she'd heard him, Laurel turned towards the door. Moments before she reached it, a part of the ceiling came crashing down. She was hit by a piece of concrete and thrown back, another piece falling on her legs and effectively trapping her.

"Nooo!" Oliver's voice broke on the scream. "Moira! Moira, please. I – I'm begging you. It's Laurel! Please, just help her!"

Oliver was crying, but hadn't even realized he had started. Moira chuckled softly, but didn't bother answering.

Smoke started filling the room Laurel was in. Oliver could watch her struggle, cry and scream for help. Moira and Malcolm watched him do the same. They revelled in the archer's despair.

In a corner of the room, open flames were appearing. Laurel had started coughing. Oliver had started sobbing. He could barely see anything anymore because he had been crying so much.

Right then, the door to the CNRI-office opened. A man with dark hair entered, his arm in front of his face in order not to breathe the smoke in. It took Oliver a second to recognize him, but then another sob tore from his throat, a mixture of relief and fear.

Tommy. Maybe Tommy would get her out. Maybe Tommy could save her, where Oliver had failed her so badly. He was the one deserving her love, anyway. But if it didn't work, if both of them died in there… Oliver wouldn't survive it.

Tommy made his way through the rubble towards Laurel, lifting the slab of concrete with difficulties and letting it drop again as soon as she was out. They hugged in relief, before Tommy ushered her forward, towards the door that promised an escape from this fiery hell.

He pushed her through it, the second before a burning beam collapsed from the ceiling and landed right in front of it, blocking the way out.

Oliver cried out in shock, pulling at the manacles as though he could somehow free himself and come to their rescue. But of course they didn't give in the slightest, and all he succeeded in was hurting his wrists. He didn't feel the pain. His senses were filled with raging terror that made thinking nearly impossible.

He didn't even know whether Laurel had gotten out.

Tommy was still standing, the burning wood blocking his only way to freedom. He coughed into his armpit, then inched back-and forwards a little, trying to figure out a possible escape route.

Right in that moment, the rest of the ceiling fell.

And as Tommy was buried under the debris, Oliver gave up. He let his head hang low, his arms bearing his whole bodyweight. He was numb to the agony that radiated from his formerly dislocated shoulders. All he felt was utter sadness and despair.

He could barely convince himself to look back at the screen. Still, he thought he owed it to his friend.

Stone and plaster covered most of Tommy's body. Only his face, his feet and one hand looked out from underneath it. His face was contorted in agony, the mouth open in a muted scream. Oliver thought he could read his name on his friend's lips, but that was probably just his imagination speaking. Still, it wasn't wrong. He was the Vigilante, he was supposed to be the saviour of the city. And Tommy had known that, too. But what he did not know was that it was Oliver's fault that he even was in that situation. And now, he couldn't even save his friend.

Looking over the scene, Oliver suddenly spotted the blood that was flowing out under the debris, dyeing the floor around Tommy in disgustingly stark red. The second his eyes focused on it, the camera seemed to stop working due to the destruction all around, and the part of the screen that showed CNRI went black.

Oliver sobbed once, utter desperation audible in his voice.

"He was my friend…" he whispered. Then, he repeated his sentence out loud, screaming his misery and anguish right in his captors' faces. "He was my friend! He was a good, kind person. He didn't deserve to die! And, Malcolm, he was your son! How could you do that to him?"

For a second, his despair was taken over by rage. Righteous anger flooded his body, anger directed at the people sitting there in front of him, who probably watched the destruction of the Glades just as well, and who seemed so damn satisfied with having killed all those people, as well as amused with Tommy's death and his own pain.

"How could_ I_ do that to him?" Malcolm asked back. "Oliver, man, come on! Don't blame us for the sins you committed. Who decided on taking the remote, who let go of the button that set the second device off? Was it me? Face it, Oliver. You know exactly who is to blame for that. The Vigilante, protective force in this city,_ hero_ –" it was impossible to miss the sarcastic, mocking undertone in Malcolm's voice "he just condemned hundreds of people to death. You just killed your best friend."

Oliver hung his head, defeated by the actions he had been forced to partake in and the cruel words.

"I…I didn't have a choice." he whispered, his voice as raw as his emotions. But it was obvious he didn't believe himself.

Malcolm didn't even bother answering. He turned around, followed by Moira and the other man, exiting through the door behind the chairs and leaving Oliver alone to drown in his guilt.

**NOTES: Reviews are appreciated, please let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES: Wow, two chapters in two days…****  
****Anyway, ths is a deeper look into Oliver's emotions as well as a bit of much-needed comfort and hope for him.****  
****Enjoy!**

Once he was left alone, the last bit of strength and dignity left Oliver's body. Uncontrollable sobs tore from his throat and he shook with his crying, hunched over as far as his chains allowed, trying to curl in on himself in emotional anguish.

Mindless and desperate he pulled at the chains, oblivious to the pain.

The time passed without Oliver noticing. There was no way of telling what time it was in this room, but he didn't care either way. What did it matter?

The screen in front of him had turned completely dark, but the horrible pictures would be burned in his memory forever, anyway.

Slowly, the initial, raging way of expressing his agony faded, and Oliver started to feel weary and somewhat numb. His thoughts kept turning around the same, dark topic, his self-hate only ever growing. He hated how right his mother had been, when she told him that he wouldn't continue his nightly business after they were through with him. What right did he have, he who just eliminated a large part of the city he had sworn to protect? What right did he have to go out there and even think about himself as the one who could save it?

These thoughts led to thoughts about his friends. Back when Felicity had learned about his Vigilante activities, when she decided to work with him, he had sworn to protect her. Earlier, he had still been sure that she and Diggle would figure this whole thing out, that they would save him instead. But, no. The whole thing had played out in a way that he endangered them, because he couldn't even buy them enough time to do what was necessary.

The odds were pretty low that they were even still alive. After all, Verdant stood right in the Glades. While he was trapped here, drowning in guilt, Felicity could very well be trapped in the Foundry, slowly asphyxiating, or being squashed to death under the debris.

And Diggle had to be in that area as well. As a former soldier – and in a way, he still was one – he would never get to safety without saving as many civilians as possible first. Just where he had failed…

Tommy. Laurel, Felicity, Diggle. And God knows how many more people.

How was he supposed to live with the guilt?

The door opened again.

Moira and Malcolm looked at their prisoner, who hadn't even looked up at the sound of them entering, with satisfaction. Despite his head hanging down, Oliver's face was well visible in the bright spotlight. Teartrails painted white lines in the grime covering his face. His eyes were closed, bruises underneath from exhaustion and another dark bruise colouring his cheekbone. There was a small cut on his forehead from where he had collided with the nightstand when he had first been knocked out.

His neck and upper body were mottled with bruises, and while the cuts had clotted by now, blood was still smeared all over his skin. Oliver looked completely and utterly broken.

Even as Moira and Malcolm sat back down and the black-dressed man stepped behind him, holding a whip in his hand, Oliver showed no sign of distress. He knew that they had entered, but it just didn't seem important. It was as though he experienced everything through a veil; like he was looking through a cloudy window of grief. Here, behind this window, nothing could really touch him.

When the first lash hit, Oliver registered the pain, but other than his body rocking forward in the chains, he didn't show any reaction. He just felt so empty, so cold. There was nothing left inside of him to hurt. From a distance, he felt the moisture running down his back. It didn't matter.

For a while, Oliver could stay in this oddly calm space. He felt as though he was floating, even the emotional pain somewhat numbed. He was barely even thinking about what had happened anymore, his mind completely blank.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the fog. From far, far away he heard his name being called, the sound of it distantly familiar. Hesitantly, Oliver opened his eyes. He looked out into the CNRI-office, completely unblemished and in best order, and…

And right into his best friend's face.

"Oliver." Tommy Merlyn said again, his kind smile playing in the corners of his mouth. He looked nothing like the way Oliver had seen him last. Tommy looked relaxed, even happy. But there was a deep sort of wisdom shining through his eyes that Oliver couldn't remember having seen there before.

"Tommy, I'm so sorry." Oliver whispered, his voice strangled from choked-back tears. "I…It's all my fault. I didn't mean…Tommy, I killed you! I might've killed Laurel, too. Is…Did she get out?"

Oliver seemed to be pleading with his eyes, begging Tommy to ease his uncertainty with knowledge.

But when Tommy looked at him, his blue eyes showed pity, and Oliver feared the worst, his legs almost giving out under him.

"I don't know, Ollie." he answered.

Oliver swallowed hard, desperately trying to stay composed. "I know I don't deserve to be told anything after what I've done." His hands trembled and he formed tight fists. He couldn't show weakness now. It had been him who had killed his friends. He didn't deserve to mourn them.

"Oliver, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?" Not once in his whole life had Tommy sounded that serious.

Oliver looked up, tears in the corners of his eyes despite all his efforts to hide them.

"I know I've said some bad things to and about you. But I was shocked, and in rage because you didn't tell me your secret any sooner, and I was wrong to judge you, Oliver. Since then, I have gained some clarity. You are a hero, not a murderer. You've helped so many people, saved so many lives, and while I still disagree with some of your methods, I also understand now why you thought killing was necessary.

And about tonight, Oliver: You have done the very best you could, the best that was humanly possible. What Moira and my father did, it didn't leave you with any choice at all, it left you with no way out, and I need you to see that. When they came to you with the remote, if you hadn't taken it, both of the earthquakes would have gone off at once. With what you did, you gave the people in the Glades precious time to get away, to save themselves. You saved those people, Oliver. And I need you to believe me on that."

Oliver looked at Tommy with big eyes. The tears had started flowing during his speech, and he had to swallow against the lump in his throat before he could answer.

"Do _you_ really believe that? God, Tommy, I killed you! How can you possibly say anything good about me?"

Tommy shook his head. "Oliver, you are not listening. You are so focused on your self-hate that you can't see how much good you do. It wasn't you who killed me. It wasn't you who caused the earthquakes. Blaming you in this situation would be like blaming your bow for the arrows you shoot. Seriously, Oliver, you've got to understand this. Don't let them get into your head like that; don't let them draw you into their devious intrigues, into their darkness.

I know you're tired, I know you're sad, and I know you're hurting. But I need you to fight them, okay? For the sake of the city, but most of all for yourself. You can't let them break you, Oliver. Promise you'll fight back."

Somehow, Oliver felt as though a weight was taken off his back. He inhaled shakily, but managed a small smile, tired but real.

"I promise. Thank you, Tommy." he said with honest gratitude. Of course he knew that this scene wasn't real, that he could never actually talk to Tommy again. But however his subconscious managed to bring this imagination up, he was thankful. And even if he wasn't sure how long this feeling would last, for now he felt relieved.

"You are welcome. Stay safe, Ollie. Don't ever give up." After these words, Tommy's face started to blur, then his body, and he slowly disappeared until Oliver stood alone.

"Tommy" he whispered, sinking to his knees. His heart filled with sadness, weighting him down. He would never see his friend again.

But he had made a promise to him, too, and even if it had only been in his mind, he was intent on keeping it.

The moment his knees hit the ground, sharp pain exploded all over his body. His left knee was searing agony. His shoulders burned from bearing his weight for much too long. His ribs protested with every breath. His head pounded and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on reality, trying to get back to fulfil his promise.

Then a stripe of white-hot pain was laid over his back. With a gasp, his eyes flew open again. He was back in the warehouse, his eyes locking with Moira's. The satisfaction that showed in them startled him yet again.

Another flash of pain over his back. He gritted his teeth to suppress his sounds of pain.

"Moira!" he gasped out "I know–ah" the guy actually continued whipping him while he spoke "I know you think you've won, but…" the next lash "…but you're wrong. It's y–you and Malcolm who have killed all those people, may–ah–maybe by making me into your weapon, but you can't…you can't blame the gun for the shot y–you take. You can't put the blame on me."

Oliver was panting harshly against the pain that radiated from his back after having been whipped all the way through his speech, but he still felt better than he had since he had taken this stupid remote, now. Maybe, not everything was lost.


	6. Chapter 6

"Stop." Moira said, her voice strained and yet full of authority. Immediately, the hits stopped coming, and Oliver hung his head, trying to catch his breath. The pain was searing through his back, but the adrenaline rush he had felt after his hallucination helped to numb the sensation a little.

Moira stood up and walked towards Oliver, now.

"Get the devices." She commanded, and the other man turned soundlessly and disappeared through the door in front of Oliver.

"You're telling us we haven't won?" she asked the bound and bleeding man. "Most of the Glades is levelled, your best friend is dead, you are close to fainting from pain and blood loss, and I would've said you were even closer to breaking. Maybe I need to reconsider that last point, but we'll get there, too, don't worry."

Oliver shook his head. Despite hearing part of the truth in Moira's words, he sounded completely calm when he answered.

"You don't understand, Moira. As long as I have friends out there, people who care about me, there is no way you're going to break me. They don't give up on me, so I can't give up myself. You can hurt me, let your goon beat me down, even though I still don't understand why, but it won't matter, anyway. As long as there are people who count on me, I will keep fighting."

"We will see." was all Moira answered before she turned around. Suddenly, the chains on his wrists slacked. Unprepared for bearing his own weight, Oliver crashed to the floor. He saw stars when his head collided with the concrete, and before he managed to shake it off, the man knelt on him, his knees digging painfully into Oliver's broken ribs.

He lifted Oliver's head at his hair and slammed it right down again, effectively stunning him. Oliver felt moisture in his hair and noticed in a somehow detached way that his head had to be bleeding. The headache was splitting. He couldn't open his eyes without having bright lightning bolts exploding in his brain and he groaned helplessly, blindly groping for his attacker to try and throw him off.

But Moira had been right with what she had said about him being close to fainting. His shredded back pressed into the rough floor and his vision was switching between blacking out in pain and blinding him with the white bolts of the concussion.

He was no opponent to anyone right now, and the man had no difficulties whatsoever holding him down, despite his weak struggle.

His left hand was now forcing Oliver's head back, exposing his neck. He presented a collar made of shiny stainless steel, maybe two inches wide and spiked with small prods on the inside.

As soon as Oliver realized what was about to happen, he renewed his efforts at trying to break free. The man smiled cruelly, and roughly fixed the collar around Oliver's neck.

He tried his hardest not to panic. He couldn't let them see him breaking down. But the feeling of the cold metal around his throat, not quite suppressing his breathing, but definitely constricting it, the way the edges dug into the soft skin under his chin and most of all the thought of what these prods would bring made it difficult for him to stay composed.

The man didn't care about the way Oliver struggled underneath him, desperately trying to free himself. His sight was slowly returning, but he still couldn't make sense of what he saw. The man held something that looked similar to the collar, but without the prods and widening a bit in the center. A small inflatable bag was connected to this part, but only when his tormentor's hand moved towards his mouth, Oliver realized what was about to happen.

It was a gag. They were planning on gagging him. Maybe it was because they didn't want to admit that they hadn't managed to break him yet, and therefore just wanted to shut him up permanently. But the reason didn't matter. He wouldn't let it happen.

Oliver clenched his teeth and set his jaw. He soon realized that he still had very little to hold against the man's superior force. He pressed his fingers into the joints of Oliver's jaw, and almost immediately broke through his weak defences. Forcing his jaw open, he pushed the rubber bag inside and closed the lock at the back of his head, despite Oliver's garbled curses and threats.

It got harder to suppress his panic, now. Oliver felt as though he was hyperventilating. He desperately tried to breathe through his nose, but felt like he didn't get enough air.

The man smiled upon seeing the obvious terror on Oliver's face. With a patronizing smack on the cheek – hitting him right on top of his bruised cheekbone, of course – the man stood up.

Immediately, Oliver started clawing at the horrible gag, sheer panic in his eyes the moment he realized it wouldn't budge in the slightest. He didn't even realize that Moira moved closer again, holding a remote in her hand. He only noticed her presence when she crouched down next to him, but still in a safe distance in case he got any ideas like attacking her, which he definitely felt like doing right now.

"Now, Oliver, your time with us here has come to an end. We have been able to accomplish all our goals just the way we had planned, possibly even with better results. And I trust that you have learned from this experience as well. We will leave now, leaving you a phone to contact your friends, so they can get you out of here.

But I want to assure you of one thing: Even if you can't see us, even if we are not around, we will still be able to control you. The time until your friends arrive will be proof of that." She held the sleek, black remote up that held several buttons, but she didn't press any of them just yet.

"And I'm sure you will realize that even your friends will have difficulties freeing you from our influence. I want you to think of what happened here when you see your sister the next time, and I want you to think of that when you decide whether you actually want to continue with your vigilantism. I want you to remember what you did to all those people."

She stood up, dusting invisible dirt off her skirt, while Oliver looked at her with tears in his swollen eyes. They were going to leave him here, alone but completely at their mercy.

The black-dressed man dropped a phone on the floor next to his head, and Oliver scrambled to get it into his hands. He dialled a number he had known by heart ever since Felicity had started working with him and pressed the call-button with shaky fingers, putting the phone on speaker and holding it close to his chest, trembling with nerves. What if she didn't answer? What if she was dead?

But the phone only rang once before Felicity's sweet voice could be heard.

"Hello? How can I help you?"

Oliver sobbed in relief. He had been so certain he would never hear her voice again. He tried to shout out to her through the gag, but what came out of his mouth sounded more like incoherent babble. Still, Felicity seemed to pick up on it immediately.

"Oliver?" she asked, and then she could hear her call out to Diggle. "John, I think it's Oliver. But it seems like he can't speak. Oh God… Hey, please, can you hear me, Oliver?"

Oliver wanted to scream "Yes", but no understandable word came past the cruel gag. He had to find a way to communicate with his friends, though.

A conversation he'd had with Felicity soon after he told her about his secret came to his mind. Full of pride, she had told him that she had learned Morse code, in case they ever had to communicate without words. Back then, he had smiled at her and said that hopefully, that wouldn't happen anytime soon. Now, he was more than thankful.

Carefully placing the phone on the floor beside his head, he touched the concrete, experimentally hitting it with his fingernail. The sound wasn't loud, but it would have to be enough.

... . .-.. .-. / - . H-E-L-P M-E, he tapped, hoping desperately to be understood.

"Oh, thank God, It's really you! See, I told you that knowing Morse code would be useful someday.

So, I'm tracking the phone as we speak. We're on our way to the car, okay, we are coming for you. You are at a warehouse a little way outside Starling City, so it's gonna take us about a quarter hour to reach you. God, I thought we had lost you. You were gone, and with the city exploding around us… Here I am babbling again, which I am sure you don't actually want to hear, especially since you seem to be in quite a precarious situation. But I just can't help it; you know how I get when I'm nervous." Oliver heard Diggle's muffled chuckle through the phone, and he started feeling a bit better already, just from being in contact with his friends.

"Okay, I get it, I'm going to stop now. You're going to be okay though, Oliver."

But Felicity was wrong; Oliver didn't want her to stop talking. He would take any distraction over having to focus on the horrifying devices on his body right now, and hearing Felicity's voice calmed his fluttering nerves.

-.. - -. - / .-. .-.. . .- ... . D-O-N-T P-L-E-A-S-E

"You don't want me to stop talking? Okay, I have no problem going on, don't worry. We are in the car now, on our way to you. Can you just tell me if you're seriously hurt, Oliver?"

Felicity sounded so concerned that it broke Oliver's heart. Suddenly, he felt bad for not having thought of his friends first. He started tapping again, his fingers moving with an urgent speed.

.- .-. . / ..- / - -.- A-R-E U O-K

Felicity snorted.

"God, Oliver, only you could ask this right now. You've been missing for almost a day, while around us the city was blown to ashes. I don't know how much you know about what was happening, but it was bad, real fracking bad. Since it'll calm you, though: We are both okay. Dig's a bit banged up, maybe, but it's just bruises.

We are quite worried about you as well, though, Oliver. Please, I need you to communicate with me. Are you hurt?"

For a moment, grief overwhelmed Oliver. Felicity's words had brought all the images back into his mind. _If they knew just how much I know about it, they would probably turn the car around and drive right back. And I would've deserved it, too, _Oliver thought. Tommy's words were forgotten; all the weight of what he had done was breaking down over him.

"Oliver?" Felicity asked, sounding worried. He tried to focus on her question.

-... . . -. / -... . - - . .-. B-E-E-N B-E-T-T-E-R, he answered hesitantly, knowing that his partners, his friends, would understand all the things he didn't say.

"Hang in there, Oliver, we are going to be with you in less than five minutes." Felicity sounded honestly worried now.

Oliver was just about to tap an answer, to somehow reassure her that everything was going to be alright, when suddenly the collar came to life. White-hot pain sparked through his body. Oliver's scream was muffled by the gag but still audible.

"Oliver!?" Felicity shouted fearfully, but there was no way in which he could have answered. The bag that was connected to the gag started inflating somehow, and it got harder and harder for Oliver to draw in a proper breath. He desperately tried to breathe through his nose, but the feeling of suffocating was gradually increasing.

Felicity's horrified voice became nothing but a blur in his ears as he seemed to be fighting to survive.

Again, the collar sent a shock through his body. He jerked off the floor, only to drop painfully on his back again. Sobbing out agonized breaths, Oliver started tapping frantically.

...-... / ...-... / ...-... / ...- SOS SOS SOS SO... His typing trailed off as grey started to dim his vision. It seemed impossible to get any oxygen in his lungs.

Once again, a shock was delivered. Oliver felt like he might have to puke from the combination of the harsh rubber taste, the gag pressing into the back of his throat and the all-consuming pain from both the shocks and the injuries that covered his body.

But he just couldn't do that. If bile would rise in his throat right now, he would certainly suffocate here on the spot, with no one around to help him. Moira had made it very clear that they would be leaving him alone, and even though he didn't doubt that they were somehow watching his suffering from afar, he did not believe that they would bother coming back here even if they saw him choke.

Felicity and Diggle would never make it in time, either. And wasn't that just what Moira had told him? Not even his friends would be able to help him. Right now, it wasn't too hard to believe her.

His lungs ached because they had to go without any air for too long. His head was spinning, and Oliver couldn't even remember anymore that his friends were on their way to help him. All he felt was complete and utter terror.

Oliver was clawing at the gag, his fingertips starting to bleed, but his movements grew weaker with every passing second.

Just before he could pass out, the gag deflated. Oliver coughed violently, trying to gulp in air through his nose, his exhales nothing but shaky sobs. His right hand pressed against his ribs, which felt as though they were breaking apart completely, broken bones shifting under bruised skin, his chest heaving. He felt utterly drained and exhausted, half-closing his eyes for a second.

Then, Felicity's voice registered in his ears again. She sounded as though she was crying, worry speaking out of every syllable.

"Oliver? Oliver, please, answer me. You just have to hold on for one more minute, okay, we are almost there. Please, can you just give me some kind of sign that you can hear me?"

.. - / - -.- I-M O-K, Oliver managed to tap, his movements weak and slow. But he knew that he had to communicate with his team somehow. He just hoped that they would recognise the letters despite his sloppy movements.

.-. .-.. . .- ... . / ... ..- .-. .-. -.- P-L-E-A-S-E H-U-R-R-Y. Oliver couldn't hold on much longer, he couldn't fight anymore. It had never been easy for him to admit to any kind of weakness, but he hoped that his team would understand him.

Felicity's answer came immediately. "Okay, Oliver, we are out of the car now and just have to find you. Hang on just a little longer, okay, you are going to be fine. Are you alone right now?"

-.- . ... Y-E-S, Oliver tapped. He had wanted to add more important information, but found his arm too heavy to move. Fatigue lay like a heavy cloak over him.

"Okay, that's good." Felicity's voice shook as though they were running, and then the door in front of him opened, and Diggle moved in first, his gun drawn, carefully checking the room before focussing on Oliver.

Felicity had no such concerns. As soon as she saw the broken body of their friend lying on the floor she started towards him, her hand clasped over her mouth to hide the horror she felt. Diggle followed right behind her, his emotions more guarded than Felicity's but still recognizable.

Oliver had turned his head towards his friends upon hearing them enter, the gag and collar fully visible, tears running unguardedly over his cheeks. He sobbed out a tired breath, the arm that he had used to tap on the floor next to the phone now stretching out towards them.

He was a pitiful sight, every single inch of his skin seeming to be covered in blood, grime and bruises.

"Oliver, oh my God." Felicity whispered, falling to her knees beside him. "What did they do to you?"

**NOTES: I feel a bit unsure about how that worked out; reviews make my day & help me do better, so please...Tell me what you think.**


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTES: Okay guys, that's the last chapter of torture for Oliver before we move on to the comfort part. **

**I hope you enjoy...**

She softly touched his face, her own tears starting to flow upon seeing all the damage more closely.

"Oliver, I need you to listen to me. For now, we will have to focus on getting you out of here. Once we're back at the Foundry, we will take care of getting these...things off you. Felicity, I need you to hold his arm steady; I'll try to shoot through the chain." Diggle sounded professionally calm, never letting his emotions get in the way of a mission. Once again Oliver was more than thankful that he had his back.

Felicity seemed grateful that someone else was keeping a clear head, too. She took hold of Oliver's left wrist first, wistfully touching the torn skin under the manacle before holding it tightly while the shot rang through the warehouse.

As soon as Oliver could move his hand freely again, he gently touched Felicity's cheek, wiping a tear away that head trailed over her soft skin. They weren't officially a couple, no, and maybe this touch was inappropriate, especially since they had only come to know each other better a month ago. But Oliver's feelings for the blond girl were undeniable, and for the moment, they both revelled in the comforting touch.

"Let's get you out of here." Felicity said with compassionate voice, before she took hold of Oliver's right wrist. Careful not to jostle the broken joint, she held it tight until the chain sprang free.

As soon as the chains hung loose, Diggle tucked the gun into its holster and knelt down alongside Felicity. He took hold of Oliver's armpits to hoist him into a sitting position, while the archer tried his hardest to keep his face blank in order not to worry his friends too much.

This attempt was futile, though, because sitting up exposed his back to their concerned eyes. Felicity let out a loud yelp of horror, and even Diggle couldn't hide a surprised gasp.

The skin on his backside looked shredded. The cuts were still sluggishly bleeding, the skin underneath mottled with deep-blue and red bruises. Burns in various degrees were visible from the taser they had used on him.

"Oliver..." Felicity whispered again, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of misery one human being could inflict on another.

Diggle cleared his throat, trying to hide his shock, but he couldn't hide how thick his voice sounded as he addressed his friend. "Do you think you can walk, Oliver?"

Oliver wasn't sure of how to answer the question. He was utterly exhausted, and felt nauseous just thinking about the fact that he would have to move his left leg. But of course he could walk; that was what he needed to do to get out of here, after all. And he had always done what needed doing.

With a tiny shrug Oliver pointed to his left knee, the distorted, swollen joint visible even through the sweatpants. Than he added a few words he tapped onto Diggle's hand with Morse code.

-.-. .- -. / - .-. -.- / - ... - C-A-N T-R-Y T-H-O... He trailed off in exhaustion before he could finish the last word, hoping to be understood nevertheless.

Diggle looked a bit doubtful about the validity of Oliver's declaration, but didn't question it. Instead he reached down to help Oliver to get on his feet.

This time, there was no way in which he could have hidden his pained noises, subdued by the gag, but still audible. He was deadly pale, deep creases of tension contorting his features. Hadn't Diggle held him up, he would have certainly fallen back down. He was precariously balancing his weight on his trembling right foot, even though the ankle was sprained from his fall, too.

Felicity was quickly slipping under his right arm while Diggle took his left side, and then they started making their way towards freedom.

Oliver couldn't use his left leg in the slightest. He dragged it after him, wincing with every painful step towards the door. The few meters to the door felt like an endless distance, even though his friends did all they could to ease his suffering. Diggle was bearing almost his whole bodyweight by now, while Felicity constantly motivated Oliver to take just one more hobbled step towards the door.

The door led into a corridor that was lit by nothing but the emergency light over the next door. It seemed so very far away, but, as Felicity assured Oliver, once they had reached it, they would be outside at the car. Oliver gave a short, careful nod to indicate that he had understood, trying not to aggravate his concussion, and then they moved on, inching towards the exit.

Suddenly, Oliver's whole body seized. His legs gave out completely under him and even Diggle didn't manage to hold him up. He tried to ease his fall, though, and all three of them collided with the floor together.

Oliver wailed in agony behind his gag, his left hand flying up to the collar, frantically trying to tear it off, even though he knew that this attempt would be in vain. His right hand gripped Felicity's tightly, momentarily disregarding the pain in his wrist while he tried to ground himself.

Sheer panic was written all over his face. He had hoped against all odds that once he left the room, he would no longer be under his torturers' influence. He realized now how foolish that had been. This was just what Moira had promised him.

And indeed, Felicity and Diggle were completely helpless as Oliver rode out the aftereffects of the shock. Felicity was crying, her heart breaking upon hearing the distressed sounds Oliver made while trying to fight the pain. Diggle was cursing under his breath, softly turning Oliver's head to the side to look for a way to open the lock of collar or gag, preferably both.

"That's an electronic lock. No way I can get it off without tools. We'll have to try it at the Foundry, with your tech." He gave Felicity a concerned look over Oliver's head. _We just have to hope he can hold on until then_, it seemed to say. Felicity worried her lip between her teeth, clearly at loss of what to do.

-.- . . .-. / -. - -. . - / - ..- - K-E-E-P G-O ... G-E-T O-U-T, Oliver tapped on Felicity's hand after he could move again without blacking out in pain, his weak movements barely perceptible.

"Okay..." Felicity whispered back with anguished voice, before addressing Diggle.

"He wants to keep going, John."

They helped him up, and dragged him on. Oliver was helping as well as he possibly could, but the exhaustion was paralyzing his body.

Mere seconds after they had started moving again, the gag was expanding. Oliver sobbed once, before trying to focus on breathing deeply through his nose to preserve as much oxygen as possible before his airway would close off completely. He tapped on Diggle's shoulder to try to communicate.

-.-. ... - -.- . / -. .- -. C-H-O-K-E G-A-G

"Oh, fuck..." Diggle muttered. "Felicity, we need to hurry. The gag's somehow choking him, and we've got to get it off."

They had to support more and more of Oliver's weight, especially since the collar had started sending shocks through his body again, every few seconds increasing in intensity.

Oliver's whole focus lay on breathing by now. His laboured breaths hitched through his nose, and it was obvious that he wasn't getting enough oxygen at all. Tears of helplessness and anguish streamed freely over his face, gathering along the line where the gag pressed into his skin. Reflexively, his fingers dug deeply into his friends' shoulders to try and ease the tension of the pain that coursed through his body.

When they reached the door, his vision was cloudy from asphyxiation. Yet, the bright morning sun stung in his eyes, increasing his headache tenfold. Against better judgement he jerked back, trying to hide in the shadows for a second, trying to ease the one pain that he could escape from.

The collar used this moment of utter weakness to send another shock, stronger than any of the previous ones. It was only a few more steps to reach the car, but there was no way in which he could have made them. He seized, more violently than before, accidently pulling free from Diggle's hold.

Oliver collapsed on the floor, convulsing and screaming behind the gag, wasting what little air he had left. He was hurting himself even worse, the gravel digging into his back while his arms flailed. Even the wounds that had already clotted tore open again, the blood flowing out from under his body.

"We have to get him into the car!" Diggle shouted, trying to get hold of Oliver's arms. But Oliver fought him, unsure of where he was, only knowing that he was in pain. That usually meant that he wasn't around people he could trust; why else would he be hurting? Touch would just bring more pain, of that he was certain.

The shock seemed to go on forever. At some point, Oliver's eyes rolled back into his skull, only showing whites. He was close to fainting, and Diggle used this to his advantage to pull him up and carry him to the backseat. Felicity had already opened the door and jumped into the car right behind Oliver, bedding his head in her lap and trying to hold him still so he wouldn't hurt himself even worse.

But even here, on the soft seats, Oliver couldn't settle. The shock had ceased enough to leave him just barely conscious, but the gag was still suffocating him, and he had used up all his air for screaming. His whole body felt as though it was on fire.

He couldn't feel Felicity's hand caressing his hair, didn't see her tearstained face, didn't hear the usually so calming rumble on the engine, didn't realize the car had started moving. Red and white lightning bolts were dancing in front of his eyes, until slowly, thankfully, black was closing in from the edges. Oliver's body and mind had to yield to the pain and suffocation and he blacked out.

As soon as Oliver's body went limp, Felicity panicked.

"Oliver?" she shouted. "Oliver, please, wake up! Digg, he's unconscious! I...I think he doesn't breathe. Oh God, if the gag doesn't let up, he'll die!"

A soft hiss could be heard, like air escaping from a balloon. Then, Oliver's cheeks, which were blown up by the gag, morphed back into their normal form.

"Oliver?" Felicity asked again, trying to feel his pulse. It was weakly fluttering right under his skin, but it still meant that he was going to be okay.

Diggle spoke up, his curt words a clear order. "Get him on his side and tilt his head back a bit. He'll need all the help he can get to start breathing again. And with this stupid gag, there is absolutely nothing we can do to help him." He hit the steering wheel, hard. He had tried all he could to stay strong for the sake of both of his friends, but couldn't hide how much the situation got to him anymore. In truth, he was almost out of his mind in fear for Oliver.

It was a bit of a struggle, but Felicity manged to turn Oliver's heavy body onto his side, softly pulling his head towards her chest to open his airway and help him breathe. She felt for his pulse again. Nothing had changed.

"Come on, come on, come on." she whispered, hoping that he could hear her somehow and fight. And really, after another few seconds, which felt like an eternity, Oliver drew in a deep breath through his nose.

He started coughing immediately, the air still having no other choice but leaving through his nose. The wheezing sound could have been funny in a different situation. Here, though, Oliver's nose started bleeding from the strain that was put on it.

He tried to clamber into a sitting position to be able to breathe more easily, and Felicity helped pulling him up before bracing one hand against his chest to share a bit of his weight. She could actually feel the ribs shifting under his skin and spoke up in a mixture of relief and worry.

"Oliver! Thank God you are okay. You really had us worried there for a second."

Oliver didn't seem to have heard her. He was bent forward, blood dripping freely from his nose, but Felicity didn't want to hinder his strained breathing any further by trying to staunch the blood. The car deserved a very thorough cleaning after all that, anyway.

Oliver whimpered, he actually whimpered once he had caught his breath a little. Desperately, he grasped for Felicity's hand with his left, hid thumb tapping barely recognizable letters on her hand.

... -.-. .- .-. . -.. S-C-A-R-E-D, he wrote, his finger lingering after the last letter so the D could have been a K as well, but what he wanted to say was unmistakable. He looked at Felicity, and the emotion she saw in them broke her heart. Oliver looked like a scared boy, completely at loss about what to do.

"I know, Oliver. Me too." Felicity admitted. "But as soon as we are at the Foundry, we will do everything, _everything _to help you feel better." She carefully squeezed his hand in silent reassurance, earning a small nod from Oliver in return.

Then, the archer slumped forward, exhaustion in every single one of his features, his eyes slipping shut. Felicity guided his head to lie in her lap again, noticing the bloodstains on her skirt for the first time. She felt completely indifferent about them. What was a skirt, when the well-being of her friend was at stake?

"Rest for now, Oliver." she whispered, caressing his cheek, wishing he deep lines of tension would disappear from his face. Yet, even as Oliver fell into a light slumber, the creases wouldn't fade.

Gladly, the rest of the way to the Foundry went quietly, without further torture. Diggle parked the car at the back of the building, intending to use the second entrance. Even though it was still early in the morning and few people were on the streets, he didn't want to risk being seen. After all, everyone would recognize the face of the Starling city billionaire playboy, and Oliver certainly didn't need nosy tabloids on top of everything else.

As soon as the car stopped, Felicity roused Oliver and helped him sit up. He couldn't help his pained noises when his back touched the seat. Still, he tried to stand on his own after Diggle had pulled him from the car.

But he was slumping in exhaustion, his right leg trembling horribly and threatening to collapse under him.

"Come on, man." Diggle said, once again pushing his shoulder under Oliver's arm, helping him along. Felicity opened the door for them, but stopped doubtfully in front of the stairs.

"We should really get an elevator in here." she tried to joke. She didn't know how Oliver should possibly be able to make this.

The archer shifted his body around so that Diggle now supported him under his right arm, the less severely injured hand coming to grip the banister tightly. He gave a short nod, his eyes showing a determined expression, before he hobbled down the first step, landing on his right ankle. His knuckles turned white from how hard he was holding onto the handrail and he panted, but still took the next step. And the next. And the next.

Felicity could do nothing but pray that the devices would leave him alone this time. Miraculously, they actually reached the bottom of the stairs without additional complications.

Oliver was deadly pale, except for two red blotches on his cheekbones and the bruises covering his face. His chest was heaving. For a moment, it looked as though he might faint, but then his grip on Diggle's shoulder got tight again and his eyes refocussed.

Felicity slipped under his other arm, and together, they managed the last few steps to the table in the middle of the room, over which Felicity had already laid a soft blanket while Diggle had helped Oliver.

Oliver settled down on his left side, his arm moving to curl protectively around his ribs. Felicity and Diggle looked down on him for a moment, clearly concerned.

"Oliver, we'll take care of your wounds now. I promise, you are going to feel better soon." Diggle said in a soft voice, moving away to get some supplies. Suddenly, though, Oliver's hand shot out, grabbing Diggle's with surprising strength. As soon as the other man had turned back he started tapping, his pointed look making the unspoken words into a clear command.

-. - / -. . - / - ..-. ..-. / -. - .- N-O G-E-T O-F-F N-O-W

Diggle laid his hand over Oliver's, trying to calm him a bit.

"Felicity is working on that right now. It's not a lock I can pick, but she's trying to hack into it. We will get it off of you as soon as we possibly can, okay?"

Oliver was about to nod in agreement and gratitude, when a shock had him seizing so violently that only Diggle's fast reflexes prevented him from falling off the table. Oliver whimpered behind the gag, too spent to scream.

"Frack!" Felicity called out. "I must have triggered some sort of failsafe. If I don't get it fixed in a minute..." Her voice trailed off while her fingers kept tapping on high speed. But it was obvious what she meant anyway.

Oliver was in unbearable agony. The current tore through his body, almost worse than the taser they had used to make him scream. He was incapable of breathing, because the gag was rapidly expanding, effectively cutting off all air supply at once. From far away he heard Diggle call his name, but he couldn't focus on him. He was burning, and yet drowning, he was being torn apart, and yet he couldn't get away. The pain seemed to swallow up his whole being.

All the while, Felicity was fighting against the technology that was tormenting him. Both of their bodies were tense as a bowstring, until suddenly, they fell back like marionettes with their strings cut. A mutual sigh of relief could be heard.

The locks on the devices had sprung open, and Felicity was at Oliver's side in a second, easing the gag from his cramping, bleeding jaw while Diggle took care of the collar. He apologised when Oliver gasped in pain, the burnt skin at his neck sticking to the prods of the collar. In disgust, they threw the things away.

"There you are again." Felicity smiled, cupping Oliver's cheek.

**NOTES: Ready for some comfort?**

**Please tell me what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES: I'm sorry that this update took a little longer than usual, but school started again a few days ago, so it might be a bit of a longer waiting time between two chapters from now on. Sorry!**

**Enjoy the new chapter, though...**

Tears streamed over Oliver's face in relief. He was finally free!

"Feli..." he tried to say, but was interrupted by a violent coughing fit. He gagged, bile rising in his throat after all the torture. Immediately, Diggle was at his side, holding a bowl under his head. He leaned to the side, over the edge of the table, emptying the meagre contents of his stomach into it. Felicity, who stood behind him, was looking for a place to comfort him, but she didn't want to touch his shredded back, either. In the end, she laid her hand on his neck, stabilizing his head and drawing comforting circles with her thumb.

Once again, Oliver felt so very grateful that his friends were here for him. When he sank back, completely and utterly exhausted, he tried to tell them, but his throat was still raw and his voice nothing more than a weak croak.

"Hey, Oliver, take it easy. You don't have to speak just yet. Let us take care of you, okay?" Felicity's voice was soft and full of worry. She had wanted to tell him not to speak at all for now, but she couldn't say it that harshly. After all, Oliver had been forcefully silenced for far too long.

"Water, pleas'." Oliver rasped, his voice breaking on the words. He coughed again, softly as not to aggravate the pain in his ribs, and closed his eyes.

Diggle brought him a cup of water and helped him sit up. The cool liquid was heaven for his parched throat and Oliver drunk greedily for a moment before reminding himself to take it easy.

With trembling fingers, he lowered the cup onto the table and looked up. He was still slightly dizzy, blood loss and exhaustion taking their toll on his body, and had to focus on his friend's faces to see their expressions.

Diggle looked grim, his serious gaze lingering on Oliver's wounds.

"We should really get you to a hospital, man. These wounds look serious, judging from your pale face and the puddle on the floor earlier you lost a lot of blood, and there is no way in which we can be sure that there is no internal damage."

"No..." Oliver swallowed. Felicity had moved behind him and he leaned against her, too tired to hold himself up. "No hospital. How would I explain these wounds?" But that wasn't his real problem. Fear spoke from Oliver's eyes, a haunted look that wouldn't go away.

"You know we would find an explanation, Oliver. After all that happened over the last twenty-four hours... no one would ask too many questions. What is really bothering you?" Felicity asked.

Oliver's face fell, his eyes filling with tears again. "I...um... after what happened, I don't think that... I don't want to be touched by strangers, not even in a hospital for an examination. I...just...please, we have blood transfusion bags and equipment here, and, Digg, you can treat my wounds. I'm pretty sure there isn't any internal damage, either." He looked up pleadingly. His eyes showed more emotions than his friends had ever seen him express. Fear. Worry. Hurt. Betrayal. And shame, shame for how weak he was.

"Okay, Oliver. It's alright. I'll see what I can do." Diggle reassured him, and Oliver looked at him in a silent display of gratitude.

"I'll go and check whether they hid ay tracking devices in these... things." Felicity carefully lowered Oliver's body to lie on his side before she moved to pick up the gag and collar.

Diggle turned to fetch an IV and a blood transfusion bag, setting the equipment up with practiced movements before filling a bucket with tepid water. He started to clean gore and grime off Oliver's skin, trying to be as careful as possible. Still, everytime he touched one of the wounds littering Oliver's skin, the archer's muscles tensed. He barely made a sound, though, clenching his teeth in order not to make Diggle feel bad for hurting him.

Diggle himself, on the other hand, couldn't comprehend how Oliver could still be so very strong. He had changed the water several times already, revealing more wounds and bruises with every inch of skin he cleaned. And Oliver had only been captured for half a day, he pondered. How could anyone bear that much pain in such a short amount of time?

Only when Oliver felt Diggle move away after his whole upper body and face was cleaned, he opened his eyes. He saw Felicity at her desk with her back towards him, fumbling with the devices, and when Diggle returned, he spoke up.

"Digg... I'm sorry. I... I should've been here with you. I... I should've done something...anything to help you. Instead I just..." Oliver shook his head. He couldn't speak about that, not yet. He knew that he would have to tell his friends eventually. But he just couldn't.

Diggle placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to draw him out of his self-hate and self-disgust.

"I don't know what happened while you were held captive, Oliver. But I know one thing for sure: If there had been any way, any at all, in which you could have escaped, you would have.

You know, maybe it would have gone differently with you out here. Maybe it wouldn't have. We will never know. But it went down the way it did, and there's no use wallowing about the past, now. What we can do now is to get you back on your feet, and in time, we will be able to help the Glades to get back together and be there for the people, okay?

Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault, Oliver. You can blame Moira and Malcolm for whatever happened. And if you really need to blame someone else, blame me. I was the one who convinced you to go home to rest, ultimately leading to your capture. And then... I was the one who was out there, who could have done something, and I... I'm the one who f-failed."

Diggle wiped one hand over his face, and only now did Oliver actually see the dark bags under his eyes and the bruise on his forehead. Diggle had been through hell, too. And he didn't deserve any of this.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up, please. None of this was your fault, okay?" Oliver tried to comfort his friend, and even though he couldn't keep his voice from breaking in exhaustion and pain, Diggle still gave him a grateful nod.

"I'll be okay. We'll be okay. It's g'nna be alright."

Oliver couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. But he still heard Diggle's answer before he moved on with treating Oliver's injuries.

I just need you to really believe this yourself, Oliver."

When Diggle moved behind Oliver with a suture kit, he didn't even bother asking whether he would want some painkillers. He knew Oliver well enough to know his answer, anyway. The only thing he did was placing one strong hand on the younger man's arm to tell him to brace himself for what was to come.

Even though Oliver drew in a sharp breath whenever Diggle stitched up a really bad place, he was mostly silent through this procedure. There were more than a dozen deep cuts separating Oliver's skin; in places where three lashes had crossed, the skin hung down loosely. Diggle was extremely worried for his friend. Even if he managed to stitch these wounds up properly, the risk for them to get infected was very high.

"The devices are safe. I mean, they are totally unsafe, with all they can do, but you know, they can't be used anymore. Or well, technically they could be, but not for tracing us here. Oh, well. You know what I mean." Felicity suddenly started to babble, blushing when she realized that she had, once again, not been able to say what was necessary and stop there.

"How is Oliver?" she asked when Diggle smiled. His smile fell.

"He's hurt badly." he admitted in a quiet tone. "I managed to stitch up the wounds on his back, but there are so many more... It's going to be a long way until he is fully recovered again."

The person in question opened his eyes. "I'm still 'ere, you know?" he slurred, looking at his friends. Immediately, Felicity moved to his side and carefully, ever-so-carefully, took his left hand in hers.

"You will be okay though, Oliver." she said, her voice soft and sweet as though she was addressing a scared child or a spooked animal. Oliver seemed to realize that, too, because he wiped any trace of pain from his expression before answering, his voice as strong as he could possibly manage in his condition.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm alright."

"Yeah, right. You don't actually know what that word means." Felicity answered playfully, before turning to Diggle.

"How can I help?"

As Diggle answered, Oliver closed his eyes again. He was still in too much pain to sleep, but the presence of his friends comforted him. He could at least let his guard down enough to be able to rest, and as they treated his wounds, he spaced out a little.

Felicity's hand on his cheek brought him back into the present an indeterminate amount of time later.

"We're done, Oliver." she said as he opened his eyes.

Diggle helped him to sit up and be able to look over his now clean and bandaged body. He knew that, even with all the trust Oliver put in Diggle's abilities to help him, he would want, need, to see for himself that everything was done properly.

And what Diggle had done had been an astounding amount of work. His right ankle was bandaged, his left knee cast in a clinical-grade brace. The skin underneath it was dark-purple and blue, the joint still badly swollen. More bruises spread all over his chest and abdomen, the worst one over his broken ribs half-hidden behind a bandage that should stabilize the fractured bones. His shoulders were covered in extensive bruising, which looked almost black and went halfway down his arms and chest.

Down his front and along his arms went rows of small, neat stitches, better ones than Oliver had ever done for himself. These would only leave small scars, in contrary to the mass of pain that was his back. He didn't see the wounds, but he felt the familiar pull of fresh stitches all over the skin.

Other than that, his right arm was in a brace as well, his wrists both bandaged, though the bandage on the right side where the bone was broken was more like a brace, too.

"Um... Wow. G-good job. Th'nks, guys." Oliver croaked out, trying to give his friends a smile. But despite all of his efforts to seem strong, they could clearly see his exhaustion.

"Hey, man, how about you drink a little more, and then we'll let you rest, okay? If you want, I can stay here with you." Diggle offered, but Oliver shook his head.

"No, you're exhausted, too. Go home, rest. I'll be ok."

"Hey, but I can stay, if you want. I slept more than the two of you, anyway. And... I don't think you should be alone right now." Felicity spoke up, offering Oliver a bright smile to convince him of how good she felt.

"Okay. Thanks." Oliver whispered, lying back down on his side as Diggle left and he stayed back in the quiet Foundry, Felicity right by his side.

**NOTES: Please tell me what you think, if you have a minute...**


	9. Chapter 9

Oliver closed his eyes, more than ready to sleep for a week. His left shoulder hurt. He shifted a little, trying to find a comfortable position. But whichever way he turned, a new pain shot through his body. He shifted again, groaning softly.

"How can I help you, Oliver?" Felicity asked after she had watched him for a minute and it got obvious that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep like that.

Slowly, wearily, Oliver opened his eyes. He coughed softly before he spoke up. His voice sounded so uncertain, so _small_, that it broke Felicity's heart.

"Back on the island, when I was hurt... I used to s-sleep on the stone floor of a cave, or the cold steel of a prison cage, or just in... in the dirt, outside. I-I don't... I always... managed to sleep there. I must've gotten soft, or maybe... I dunno... maybe I wasn't hurt as bad... back then.

The thing is... I'm hurt, injured... And I don't know... lying here, in the middle of the room, exposed... I keep thinking that I am completely vulnerable, and unable of defending myself... I know it's irrational, but-but I just need to actually feel safe, I need to hide, to disappear... I c-can't get taken again, I can't stand any more pain!"

Oliver was panting harshly and groaning in pain from his ribs after his outburst. Felicity was completely taken aback by it. Oliver rarely, if ever, spoke about his time on the island and he never let anybody see that it was still bothering him. Right now, it seemed as though he was drowning in the memories of being there. And it scared her to see him that way.

When Felicity spoke up again it was in a soothing voice, her words carefully chosen.

"Would you feel better if we moved into the corner over there, where you can see the whole room? I can put some blankets on the floor..."

Oliver looked up at her, completely awed. Felicity's strength surprised him all over again. She was his rock, tough and unyielding against the mental anguish, the storm raging in his mind and soul.

"Th'nks, F'licity." he whispered, tears burning in his swollen eyes again. He tried to straighten up with a groan, but a soft yet resolute hand on his shoulder kept him in a lying position.

"Let me just get it set up, okay? Then I'll come and help you." Her voice was as soft as her touch, and Oliver felt the tears spill over because of all the comfort she was giving him.

Felicity went to work as fast as possible. She piled all the blankets, which they kept for emergencies just like this, in the corner, creating something like a makeshift bed. Then, once she was done with that, she picked up Oliver's bow and placed it on the floor beside the camp. She looked over the place for a second, then nodded, satisfied. This was the best she could manage, and she just hoped that it would provide a little safety and comfort to the hurting man.

She moved back to Oliver, who had closed his eyes again, tear tracks painting silver lines on his cheeks. Touching his shoulder she roused him carefully. Oliver looked up immediately, trying to return her caring smile. They didn't speak, but they didn't need to, either. Oliver followed Felicity's soft touches as though he was sleepwalking, moving first to sit, then to stand, leaning heavily on her while still trying to bear as much of his own weight as possible. He was even tentatively using his left leg, which still hurt fiercely but was supported sufficiently by the brace.

It was only maybe ten steps towards the improvised bed, but when Oliver sunk down onto the blankets, he was panting in exertion and clutching his ribs.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, his head tilting to the side. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and goose bumps were spreading all over him because of the cold air in the Foundry. Oliver tried to slow his breathing, to get a grip on the pain. It took him a minute, but when he opened his eyes again he looked right into Felicity's worried blue orbs.

"Would you... sit with me?" he asked tentatively, insecurity showing in every fibre of his being.

"Of course, Oliver." Felicity answered with a soft smile, picking up one last blanket she had put aside earlier, indicating that Oliver should lean forward a little. She draped the soft material around his upper body, covering the cold skin and the ugly wounds before she sank down next to him.

When she guided his head to her shoulder, Oliver closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had been that comfortable. Even the wounds covering his body paled behind all the love and care she radiated. Here, his upper body upright to help him breathe, slowly getting warm thanks to the thick blanket, the whole room in sight, wrapped in the arms of a person he trusted, he could finally feel safe.

Soft lips pressed to his hair.

"Rest now, Oliver." Felicity whispered, pressing another warm kiss to his forehead.

Oliver melted even further into her embrace, his body relaxing. Only then, while he hadn't shown any sign of recognition before, his hand moved to his bow and he pulled the weapon into his lap, rubbing the smooth material with his thumb.

"Thank you." he whispered with utmost sincerity, putting every single thing he couldn't speak of right now into those two small words.

"Rest well." Felicity just answered, and Oliver nodded softly. He still hurt, yes, so much that he would do almost anything to make it better. But Felicity's presence gave him relief, and he was more than content with just settling against her and letting someone else bear the weight of the world for once.

Felicity barely noticed the exact moment he succumbed to sleep. Oliver stilled, the hand around the bow loosened slightly, and then his breathing evened out.

Only now Felicity allowed herself to relax, too. An incredible weariness settled over her. She had gotten less than four hours a night over the last week – which was more than Oliver had allowed himself, but still – and the stress of trying to prevent the Undertaking and rescuing Oliver in the last few hours had definitely added to her exhaustion.

But she didn't want to sleep right now, either. When Oliver had asked her to hold him earlier, it had basically been a plea for protection. And she would not break the silent promise she had given him in that moment.

For the first time in weeks, Oliver looked completely peaceful. The deep creases of worry and pain had faded from his face, his ever-so-tense muscles – not that Felicity didn't like them – were finally relaxed, and if it hadn't been for the bruises littering his skin, Oliver could've seemed happy.

Felicity couldn't take her eyes off him. He looked so calm, and she suddenly realized that this was the first time she actually saw him sleep.

They had sat there for maybe one hour, before suddenly, a quiet whimper tore from Oliver's throat. Felicity had fallen into a light slumber herself, but immediately opened her eyes upon hearing the distressed sound.

Oliver's face was contorted with the agony of his night terrors, and his lips twitched slightly.

"Tommy..." he whispered, his hand tightening around the bow. Felicity's heart broke in a billion pieces. He sounded so, so tortured, as though something was tearing him apart from the inside.

And suddenly Felicity remembered. Earlier, after she had checked the torture devices for trackers, she had also tried to check on all the people they knew who could've been in danger. Tommy had died in the CNRI-office building. She hadn't wanted to burden Oliver with that while he was already hurting so badly. How was it possible that he knew of it?

"Please... let 'em go... Take me, pleas'... It should've been me..." Oliver's tormented voice spoke up again. His muscles were tense and he trembled horribly, tears streaming over his face. Felicity didn't know what to do. She had read somewhere that waking people from a nightmare was not a good thing to do. But was she supposed to just watch him suffer?

"Laurel... Tommy..." he keened in a completely broken tone, and Felicity couldn't stand it any longer.

"Oliver?" she asked, first quietly and a little afraid, but then louder.

"Oliver? Please, you are dreaming! Wake up, Oliver!"

She took the wrist of the hand that was cramped around his bow, ready to shake him awake if necessary, when Oliver suddenly tore out of sleep and jumped up, adrenaline fuelling his broken body and giving him the strength to disregard the pain.

In a split second, Felicity found her back pressing against the concrete wall, the bow pressed against her throat, cutting off her air supply. Oliver leaned threateningly over her, his eyes cold, dark and completely void of emotion.

**NOTES: What do you think? **


	10. Chapter 10

**NOTES: This chapter is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Hope you enjoy...**

Her first reflex was to fight. She pushed at Oliver's arm, scratched over the steel-hard muscles and left dark red lines on his skin.

He wasn't budging, and after a moment, reason won. She stopped struggling, sunk back and allowed Oliver to get even further into her personal space. With black dots dancing in her vision, she tried to focus on his face and extended one hand to carefully cup his cheek.

"O'ver... C'mon, t-trust you." she whispered with a hoarse, strangled voice. Seconds stretched like hours and Felicity's lungs were screaming for air before Oliver suddenly gasped, the bow first retreating a little. As soon as Oliver's eyes focused on her and he came back to full conscience again, however, he threw the bow away violently and jumped back, crawling backwards over the floor while he tried to get as much space between them as possible.

Felicity had fallen back on their makeshift bed, holding her throat, coughing and drawing in big gulps of air. Each inhale hurt as though she was breathing in fire.

As soon as she was able to breathe somewhat normally again, Felicity looked at Oliver. He had moved back until his back pressed against one leg of the examination table, staring with big, unseeing eyes into the room. They were filled with tears and spoke of self-hate and self-disgust. He trembled all over his body, cowering on the floor like a spooked animal, his left hand pressed on the floor to brace himself.

As soon as Felicity moved to stand up, his eyes focused on her and he raised his shaking left arm. His palm showed to Felicity in a gesture of utter defensiveness.

"Don't come any closer!" he hissed. "It's not... safe around me. Everything... Everything I touch, s-suffers, or dies, and... I thought that I could protect you from the bad things, the bad p-people out there, but the t-truth... the truth is that the biggest threat was always right beside you. I-I'm poison, any you... You should get away from me as fast as possible!"

Oliver was crying, sobbing shakily and trembling horribly. All Felicity wanted to do was comfort the hurting man, despite, or maybe just because of what he had said.

"I refuse to believe that." she sat finally, inching closer despite Oliver's desperate noises that should keep her away, and sat down maybe six feet in front of him, cross-legged on the floor.

"What happened to you when you were kidnapped, Oliver?" she asked softly. "We found out that it was Moira and Malcolm from surveillance around the Queen mansion, and we suspected that they had somehow found out that you are the Vigilante. Plus, I can see the story your wounds tell, but everything else... I mean, I understand that you don't want to talk about it, traumatic experience and all. But I want to help you, and for that I need a point where I can start, at least. I need to know what makes you feel and act the way you do right now."

She stilled, looking expectantly at Oliver. He had hidden his face in his hand, shaking his head in denial.

"I... I don't... deserve your help. I c-can't..." he whispered, sounding heartbroken.

Felicity just couldn't stand it any longer. She moved closer towards Oliver and placed a firm hand on his arm. She had expected his flinch, and didn't pull away. Oliver shook his head, sighing softly, but seemed resigned to the fact that Felicity wouldn't back off. He still didn't look at her.

"Oliver, listen to me. I have come to know you better with each day since you turned up bleeding out all over my car. I have seen you in good moments, in bad ones, and in times where everything seemed just hopeless, where even you didn't know how to push on. And I have seen your darkness, I have seen the things you called your poison earlier. Do you know why I stayed anyway, though? Because there is a light inside of you, maybe your soul or something, that banishes the darkness ten times over. This light makes you push through all the dark times to help people, it makes you stay awake at night to save the city. It's that light that shines through your eyes whenever you're exited, or when you come back from a mission victorious.

The darkness, the poison, that's something every person possesses. The light is, too. But I have never seen anyone where it burned brighter than inside you. And yet, somehow they managed to throw a shadow over it, like a cloud hiding the sun. But under this shadow I can still see you, Oliver.

And, if you really were a bad person, you would've killed me over there."

At that, Oliver couldn't stay silent any longer. "And I would've, if your voice hadn't pulled me back into reality. You had to save yourself from me, and doesn't that prove just what kind of person I am?"

Felicity was starting to become slightly agitated. Why couldn't Oliver see that he was not a bad guy?

"The fact that you let go proves what kind of person you are." she explained patiently. "Do you really think I would've had any chance at freeing myself if you hadn't wanted to let me go?

Listen to me, Oliver, please. I need you to believe me. When I look at you, I don't see a bad person. I see that you are hurting, deep inside, way beyond the physical injuries. I can see how badly Moira and Malcolm hurt you, and I want to mend those wounds the way Diggle could mend your cuts and bruises. But to do that, I need to know how those wounds were inflicted. Please, Oliver, will you tell me what happened to you?"

For a while Oliver just stared at her, tears flowing over his cheeks. He shook his head, started to say something, and stopped again, only to start up seconds later. When the first clear words left his mouth he was staring at the ground. He couldn't bear to see Felicity's reaction to what he would tell her.

"I... They... While I slept, they came into my room, managed to sedate me. I woke up in the warehouse, chained to the ceiling." Oliver's voice was level, almost scientific, and completely detached from his emotions. Felicity's heart hurt for him.

"I knew how much I was needed out here, and I tried to escape, I really did. I tried to climb up the chains, to break them somehow, but they... they were watching me, and dropped me on the floor, wrecking my arms and legs. I did as much as I could, popping the shoulders back in, but it was no use. They w-walked up to me, and I will never forget the way M-Moira, my mother, leered down on me. She seemed so... full of hate, so determined to hurt me...

They told me all about what they had planned, and I tried to talk them out of it, to get my mother to just listen to me. I... I couldn't believe what was happening, you understand?"

Oliver stopped for a moment, but he didn't seem to expect a reaction from Felicity. He stared into empty space, reliving the scene in his head. When he spoke on, his voice was no longer level, but pained and desperate.

"She called me a murderer, said that who came back from the island... that I am not her son. I wasn't even allowed to call her my Mom any longer. They wanted to destroy me utterly, and what they said next... I don't... Felicity, I feel like I can't even tell you! I am so scared, because that'll make it become true..."

He cried, his face still hidden in his hand, sobs shaking his frame. Felicity patted his back, whispering softly. "Hey, I can see how much this is eating you up inside. I get that you're afraid of talking about something that already hurts so much while still being inside you, and that you're scared of making it worse by talking. But, maybe... the weight of this secret actually wants to get out, and sharing it will make you feel better?"

"I dunno." Oliver whispered in his palm, barely audible. But then the words just gushed out of him.

"Thea, my baby sister... They told me that she isn't actually my sister, not fully, but the child of Malcolm and Moira. It's... I don't know what to think, but somewhere deep inside I know that they aren't lying, and it's just, you know... As though it wasn't enough to destroy half of the city I love, they also had to destroy almost every aspect of my life! And I don't know how I should ever look Thea in the face again..." His voice trailed off in a whimper. He shook, his face completely hidden, but tears spilled over the hand covering his face.

"Oh, Oliver." Felicity whispered. "I am so very sorry. But, you know what I think?" Through teary eyes, Oliver looked up at her. "I think that what makes you and Thea siblings, it isn't a blood bond. It's a shared life, shared memories and emotions, it's the love you feel for each other. And that's what counts. It won't be easy to tell her, but I believe that in the end, you will both be okay, or even grow closer together."

Oliver tried a weak smile.

"T-Thanks." he whispered, before saying "I need to finish the whole story, though, Felicity, 'cause I don't know if I can find the strength to start again if I stop now.

Soon after, they had a TV brought in, and showed me surveillance from all over the Glades, including two images of the Markov devices – they had two, you know? – and one of L-Laurel's office in the CNRI.

I asked them what they were doing, but it got painfully clear soon after. They had a remote for the devices, a trigger of sorts. I...They... I should set off the earthquakes, Felicity.

And I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to think. I barely even knew how to function any longer. They wanted to break me, to destroy me in every sense of the word. And I'm not quite sure they didn't succeed quite yet.

I just knelt there and I could do absolutely nothing but hoping, praying that somehow you would be able to disarm these things, to stop it all from happening. But all hope was in vain."

Oliver's voice broke. In a way, Felicity didn't want him to continue. She was damn near nauseous just from what he had told her so far, tears rising in her eyes both at Oliver's own hopelessness and the reminder of her own failure.

Because it was true: They had been to slow, and maybe, if they had been just a little faster, a little smarter, none of these things would have happened. Also, she was sure that it would only get worse the further Oliver got into his story, and she wasn't sure whether she was able to bear all that.

On the other hand, she hoped beyond everything that it would indeed help Oliver. And she didn't even know if she could stop him right now, because Oliver kept on talking, lost in his memories, his sad, monotonous voice tearing her apart.

"They played me like a fiddle, and I went exactly where they wanted me to go. I should take the trigger into my mouth, and Malcolm explained that with pressing the button, I would power the machines up. Only once I let go, they would actually cause the quake. I wanted to refuse, of course, to tell them to shove their stupid remote up their asses, but... they threatened that they could just as well detonate the whole thing right there and then.

There was no choice to make. I hoped to at least be able to buy the people in the Glades, and you guys, a few extra minutes, and so... I took it.

But the moment my teeth touched the button, everything went to hell. I... They lied to me, and I was gullible enough to believe them.

It was my mother who made me kill all those people, Felicity, do you understand?"

Oliver's eyes looked haunted, his voice no longer monotonous. He panted as though in great exertion after a long training session. Tears ran freely over his face.

Felicity didn't know what to say. She, the ever-babbling IT-girl, was at a loss for words. She ended up with a lame "I'm sorry, Oliver."

But the archer didn't seemed to have heard her, anyway. He spoke on, dully repeating his last words.

"My mother made me kill hundreds of people. And she made me watch them die...

I was completely devastated. But despite all the chaos and damage I could see on the screen, it had only been one of the devices. I held on, not wanting the second to hit as well. I just... It was an impossible situation. I knelt on the floor, the device in my mouth, like a dog with a bone, and they were leering down on me. I have never felt so small...

They gave me two so-called options. I could either let go of the remote right there and then, and they would let me go. Or... I could keep it and they would torture me until I screamed, and let go of it that way around. I just kept hoping that I could somehow buy you enough time, at least. But it was a futile attempt...

You know, Moira said that once they were... through with me, I wouldn't go back to being the Hood anyway. And she wasn't wrong, was she? I mean, what good am I to the city when I only let everyone down when it really matters, anyway? I had a chance to prevent the earthquakes, if I had just been a bit stronger, but I failed. I failed the city...

Anyway, their goon started cutting into me." In a subconscious movement, Oliver's hand trailed over the long cut on his chest. "It wasn't too bad... until he brought out a taser. I-I was terrified, Felicity, but tried not to show them. It's just that... my body, my mind, I have nothing to set against the current. I tried to hold on, I really did. But the last shock was too much. I think I passed out for a moment, because the next thing I remember is the remote lying on the floor, and all of the screens showing utter chaos and destruction.

I... Oh God, I killed all those people! I wasn't strong enough... couldn't hold on... And now they are all dead!"

Oliver sobbed loudly. His eyes were glazed over with all the horror he had been subjected to.

Felicity barely even knew what to think. When she spoke up again it was tentative, unsure. How could you offer comfort in such a situation?

"Oliver... You must know that this wasn't your fault! I mean, you aren't stupid. I am completely sure you know, rationally, that a certain current just makes you pass out, and that you can't do anything against that. I am honestly amazed by your strength. Do you have any idea of how much time you bought the people in-between the first and second earthquake?"

Oliver looked at her questioningly, shaking his head.

"I don't know... Two minutes, maybe three?"

"It was eight minutes, Oliver. Eight minutes in which Diggle could free several children out of a collapsing orphanage. Eight minutes in which hundreds of people could leave the Glades. All of them would've died if it hadn't been for the sacrifice you made. For you, it was eight minutes of horrific torture, which you managed to bear without a sound. For them, it made the difference between life and death. Do you actually need any further proof that you are a good person, a hero?"

Her answer was a sad yet resolute shake of Oliver's head.

"You don't understand. I looked back at the screen, and I saw Laurel in her office. She was still there, gathering some sheets. I just wanted her to get out... But before she could leave, a beam fell from the ceiling and threw her back. She l-lay trapped. I saw the... the panic in her eyes, saw her scream for help, but I was tapped, too.

I begged. I honestly begged them to save her, to get her out. They l-laughed at me. And I saw the fear in her eyes, the terror... How could I possibly stay the Vigilante if I can't even save my friends?

Instead, someone else d-died trying to do my job. I had almost given up on Laurel, I didn't know what to do, when the door to the office opened, and T-Tommy entered." Oliver's voice broke on his friend's name.

"He... is dead, Felicity. I w-watched Tommy die. I don't even know whether Laurel got... got out. I k-killed my friends."

He ended in a deep, heart-breaking sob. Bending over he hugged his chest, closing his eyes. A low keening noise came from his throat, interrupted by small bouts of silence whenever he tried, and failed, to clamp down on his feelings.

Felicity moved even closer. She hugged her arms around Oliver's trembling form, holding him tightly. She was afraid of hurting him with her touch, but even more so of leaving him alone in his suffering. She pressed his head close to her heart, caressing his tense back and whispering soft nonsense.

It took several minutes for Oliver's body to lose at least a bit of the tension. He burrowed his head even deeper in Felicity's chest, his keening tampering of to a whimper that was repeatedly interrupted by soft sobs. His tears wet her blouse as he cried, letting out the tension of the last days.

The horrors he had lived through would stay with him, yes, but the fresh feelings he had held suppressed could slowly dissolve.

**NOTES: So, what do you think? Was it too much of a recap of the first chapters? I really wasn't quite sure of how to write this chapter in particular, so feedback would be really nice. Thanks!**


	11. Chapter 11

Felicity didn't know how much time had passed when Oliver fell silent and relaxed into her embrace, only letting out hiccupped breaths every now and then. Her back had started hurting from staying in the same position for too long, but she was afraid to move.

She gave him another few minutes until she spoke up in a soothing, tentative voice.

"Laurel is alright, Oliver. She is at Starling General with a concussion, and her father is with her. I tried to check on everyone we know, and she's safe, I promise."

Oliver lifted his head. His eyes were swollen and red-rimmed from all the tears, and his blue irises seemed to glow intensely amidst his blood-shot eyes. When he looked at her another hiccupped sob escaped before he swallowed hard.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, looking at her in awe. His left hand gripped hers tightly, holding on for dear life. He looked as though he wasn't quite sure whether he could believe her words. He only knew one thing: If he allowed himself to hope now, it would shatter him completely if this hope was proved to be futile.

"I am. I hacked into the hospital database. She is spending the night there, but can go home tomorrow." Felicity smiled softly up at him, placing one hand on his cheek to wipe a tear away.

Oliver wiped at his eyes, suddenly looking quite self-conscious. He looked down on the floor, whispering "I am sorry for losing it like that."

He was retreating back into his mind, behind the wall he had built to hide all of his emotions, and Felicity knew that she would have to try to keep him with her now, or she might lose him again. Oliver was fidgeting with a loose thread on his pants, and Felicity placed one hand over his to stop the nervous movement.

"Oliver, hey, it's okay. You are allowed to feel sometimes, too, you know? After all you went through at the hands of these... these sadistic bastards, I would be really concerned if you managed to stay calm. Please, Oliver, don't feel bad for being able to feel, okay?" Her thumb painted soft, calming circles on his palm.

"Oliver looked up at her through his lashes, which were glistening with tears.

"But..." he stopped, unsure of how to voice his thoughts. "It's so much pain... I don't know if I want it to escape, to be visible... I'm scared that I won't be able to lock it all away again. And being confronted with it all... It's overwhelming, and scary."

"I get it, I do." Felicity answered "But, you know what? Showing your feelings in front of people you trust, people who are willing to listen to you, to support you – it doesn't weaken you. You might come to a point where the pain doesn't seem like a bottomless abyss that you have to lock away so it doesn't swallow you up anymore, but becomes bearable because you share the weight with others.

I know that in the past, trusting people could very well mean death to you. I understand that in front of people who wanted to hurt you, you had to hide your feelings in order to appear tough. But now you have us. And from those you trust you can draw strength by sharing your feelings."

She looked at Oliver, meeting his blazing eyes. His nervous fiddling had stilled, but he was still trembling slightly, and as he spoke up his voice broke on the first few syllables.

"This is very kind of you to say, and I would like to believe you, too. But, the thing is that I don't want you to have to share my burden, if you don't have to. That might help me, but, really, I think it's rather hurting you guys. And after all that happened, after Tommy... I don't want to be responsible for causing you any more pain, too."

Felicity frowned. That was such an Oliver-like response!

"Who do you think we are, Oliver? Digg and I, we can take care of ourselves, too, we can make our own decisions. And if we decide that your story is too much for us to bear, we will tell you.

Do you want to know how I feel right now?" Felicity waited for Oliver's small nod before she continued.

"I don't feel weighted down by what you told me, but rather like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Not knowing what had happened to you, it made me anxious and stressed me extremely. But now that you told me, this weight has been taken from me, and to me, it doesn't feel like a burden to know your story, but more like a privilege, because you trusted me enough to tell me all of it. That's making me feel happy, and more connected to you, too. I believe that this connection is something good. Please, Oliver, don't push John and me away. I think that this connection will be a positive thing for all three of us."

Finally, Oliver sunk back, accepting her words. The tension left his body and he only looked tired.

"Okay, 'licity. I b'lieve you. Thank you for your support. Thank you for being 'ere."

Felicity saw his utter exhaustion and pointed over to their blankets. "How about you try to rest some more? Maybe you'll be able to sleep a bit better now that you talked about it."

But Oliver shook his head. "No, I... I need to think about what I'm going to do next. Thea might think I'm dead, after all that happened in the Glades… and then I didn't even call her, yesterday... and I really wanna... talk to her, I need to explain everything. But also... I'm just afraid to go back home." He ended in a whisper, looking on the floor. He couldn't just shake off what Moira had done to him, and even thinking about seeing her again made him feel nauseous. But he couldn't let this fear gain the upper hand over him, could he? He would have to confront her at some point.

Felicity placed a calming hand on his arm. "You could spend another few hours here, rest until morning, at least. Thea will probably be asleep right now, anyway. And if you are ready to go in the morning, you can do that, or else, you just call your sister and ask her to come here so you can explain everything."

"Okay..." Oliver let out a quiet sigh, leaning into her touch. After a few seconds, Felicity helped him stand up and they moved back into the corner where Oliver sat down slowly, closing his eyes. When Felicity moved to sit down beside him, however, he held a hand out, stopping her.

"I don't think... Maybe I should rather sleep alone, Felicity." he said quietly, looking away, ashamed of his own weakness.

Felicity shook her head, saying resolutely "No, Oliver. I acted stupidly during your last nightmare, and I will not repeat this mistake. I mean, grabbing the hand that held on to your only tool of defence? I really could have thought of that myself. There is nothing, absolutely nothing you did wrong in that situation, and therefore there is no reason why you should deny yourself any comfort right now."

"When I'm dreaming, just don't touch me at all, okay? As soon as I start to show any signs of dreaming, you move away from me as fast and far as possible. That is my condition; otherwise I won't sleep at all." He added when he saw that Felicity wanted to object. She frowned a little, but finally nodded in agreement.

She helped Oliver to lean into her embrace again, and the hurt man nodded off almost immediately. The physical and emotional stress of telling his story had obviously worn him out.

After affectionately stroking his hair once, it didn't take long for Felicity to fall asleep, either.

They slept quietly, until Diggle entered the Foundry some time later, and the scent of fresh coffee floated the room.

While Felicity was still blinking her eyes open, Oliver was immediately on high alert. His tense muscles relaxed once he saw his friend, however. He stood up, slowly but on his own, and limped towards him. As soon as he had reached the table he fell into a chair, panting softly, but stilled when he saw Diggle's concerned look.

He stopped his partner's worried words with saying in an overly cheerful voice "Oh, great, you brought coffee! I could use, like, a bucket of it."

Diggle shook his head. "Oliver..."

"No, Digg." Oliver interrupted him. "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I feel a lot better already, and now I want to talk to Thea. She might not even know I'm alive yet. Felicity can update you on... everything I told her, and I'll come back tonight to check in with you."

These words only seemed to add to Diggle's concern, however.

"Don't you think you should give yourself a bit more time to heal before you start running around, running yourself ragged, for others? Please, Oliver, I am worried about you. You could just call your sister."

"No!" Oliver answered fiercely, before realizing the way he had just spoken to his friend and apologizing. "I'm sorry, Digg, but I need to do this right now." He looked at Felicity to support him, and she moved over to them, standing next to Oliver.

"Let him go, John. It's what he needs to do." she said with a soft smile. "I'll explain everything to you, okay?"

Diggle looked at her, and then back at Oliver. "At least let me drive you to the mansion." He asked, not wanting to leave his friend alone.

"Thank you." Oliver smiled, picking up his coffee and standing up, swaying slightly but steadying himself and starting to walk. Diggle moved alongside him, ready to support Oliver if it was needed.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes." he called back at Felicity.

The way to the car was slow and exhausting, but Oliver managed it all by himself. When he dropped on the car seat, he was wheezing for breath, the right, braced arm wrapped around his ribs and the left hand clutching his knee. He gratefully took the water bottle Diggle handed him, drinking deeply.

"Thank you." he said again, smiling a little. He actually did seem more relaxed and at ease, still with dark shadows under his eyes, but no longer the broken boy they had found the other day.

"How are you really feeling, Oliver?" Diggle asked as they started driving.

"Oliver sipped at his coffee while he considered the question, revelling in the energy rush that followed.

"I do feel better than yesterday. I spoke with Felicity a lot, and...

What Moira and Malcolm did, it shattered my belief in myself, it made me think that I was responsible for the death of everyone in the Glades. I... They used me as their weapon to destroy the city, and it was... it still is hard to come to terms with that.

But Felicity helped me understand that just because they used me, it isn't actually my fault. I actually didn't have a choice. I blamed myself, and in a way, I still do, but I think Felicity set me on the right path to start believing again that I'm not evil. And coming clear to my sister will be my first step."

Oliver looked at Diggle, waiting for questions, for judgement, for anything. But his friend stayed silent for a long time, just looking out of the window and driving.

What Oliver had said was a lot to take in, and especially confusing since he didn't know the whole story behind it. One thing was obvious, though: They had hurt Oliver, had used him in a way that was impossible to just shake off. No matter how much of what he had said Diggle understood, Oliver needed his support right now. And that he could give, at least.

"Oliver, even though I don't know exactly what happened to you, I am certain of one thing: you have done all you could to fight for the best possible outcome, and none of what happened was your fault. I am very glad that you started believing that yourself, and I am especially proud of you for daring to go back into your home, to confront your mother. And –I want you to know one thing, too: Whenever, wherever you need me, I'll be there for you."

Diggle glanced at Oliver from the side. Having listened intently, Oliver now looked at him before whispering quietly "That means a lot to me. I am glad you are here. Thank you."

The car stopped and Oliver looked up. They stood in front of the Queen mansion, right by the closed entrance.

Oliver swallowed hard. His heart raced, his hands trembled without him noticing, and he startled a little when Diggle placed his palm over Oliver's to ground him. He looked up, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes blown wide in panic.

"You don't have to do this, you know?" Diggle asked, steadying the younger man.

"Yes, I do." Oliver answered, trying to control his shallow breathing and clenching his hands into fists. He looked Diggle right in the eyes, who tried to convey as much strength as possible through their shared look.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked sincerely, but Oliver shook his head.

"No, I need to do this alone. I'll be okay, Digg." He smiled a bit shakily, but still opened the car door and climbed out, slowly limping towards the closed door without looking back.

Every step felt like a step towards a deep abyss that would swallow him up, and Oliver did not know what wold wait for him once he reached it.

He touched the door handle with sweaty fingers, hesitating. Was he really ready to see the person responsible for both his own and the city's suffering again? Definitely not. But he still knew what he had to do, and so he pushed the door open without a second thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**NOTES: Hi guys... **

**First of all: I'm really sorry for the long hiatus; my focus sort of switched to other fandoms, and it took me a while to get motivated enough to continue writing this. But here I am, and here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy...**

The moment he entered the entrance hall, Oliver was greeted with the strong smell of perfume; a scent he had always connected to home, to safety, to family. A scent that now made him stiffen with memories of betrayal, of pain and despair.

It was his mother, who had been torturing him and destroying the city less than a day ago, and who was now embracing him tightly.

Oliver's only thought was: _I have to get away from here._ But Moira held him with strong, unyielding arms, her manicured fingernails digging into the wounds on his back so deeply that he had to suppress a whimper of pain. He tried to wiggle out of her grip, but she wouldn't let go.

He heard his heartbeat hammering in his ears, so loud that he startled when Moira whispered something, her mouth almost touching his earlobe.

"I'm glad you're back, Son. Let's keep it at that." Moira's voice was menacing and ice-cold, in contrast to her words. It was very clear what she wanted to say, though: Here, with Thea, Oliver was supposed to keep up the act. He should call her his mother, too, and act as though nothing had happened.

Moira pressed him close to her chest once more, almost making Oliver black out in pain, before she let go and took one step back, mustering him with faked concern while Oliver tried to regain his footing.

"Where have you been, anyway? We were very worried."

Feeling nauseous just from seeing the smile on his mother's face, which seemed so real but was so very wrong, Oliver carefully tried to keep his expression blank. He could not answer this question. How stupid had he been, thinking he was prepared to come back here? He almost wanted to turn tails and run.

In that moment, he saw his baby sister descend the stairs. Everything else was suddenly forgotten. Without saying anything more he pushed past Moira and started towards her, catching Thea in his arms. The way she slammed into him aggravated all his injuries, but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore about what Moira and Malcolm had told him, either. All that mattered was that Thea was here, in his arms, safe. They could figure out everything else.

Thea stayed where she was for a minute or something before she gave a short, choked-off sob against his chest and whispered "God, Ollie, I thought I'd lost you again. I wouldn't be able to go through all that again! Please, will you tell me what happened to you?"

She took a step back, only now really seeing the bruises on his face, his braced arm and knee, and the bandages peeking out from under his clothes.

"Oh, Ollie..." she breathed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Oliver cupped her face in his left palm, softly turning her head up to look at his face instead of all the injuries.

"Hey, Speedy, I'm alright, okay? I got into the chaos in the Glades, but I'll be fine, I promise." He gave her a reassuring smile, but cringed inwardly. He hadn't wanted to lie to Thea ever again, but the longer they stayed around Moira, the harder that would get.

Moira seemed to know that as well. A fine smile was playing in the corner of her mouth. Her plan was working out perfectly. Oliver would lie to Thea, again and again. And his sister would never forgive him for that.

"Raisa set the table for breakfast, Oliver. I'm sure you are hungry, after what you've been through. Maybe we could eat together, and you can tell us a bit more about what happened to you." Her voice didn't leave room for an argument. Oliver had hoped to be able to go upstairs and talk to Thea as soon as he returned, but Moira had other plans, apparently.

She turned to sit down in the dining room, where Raisa was just placing a third plate on the table. The three of them only took up maybe a fifth of the space on the table, but for whichever reasons Moira had always preferred eating here instead of in the smaller, more comfortable kitchen.

Thea followed after her, and, though reluctant, Oliver joined them seconds later. He sat down carefully, a sigh leaving his lips now that he was finally able to take some weight off his aching legs.

When Raisa moved to place a toast, bacon and a bit of fruit salad on Oliver's plate, he smiled up at her as kindly as he could manage in his situation and whispered a thank you. The food looked as delicious as ever, but Oliver felt nauseous at the mere thought of eating at the same table as his mother.

So he just pushed the food around on his plate, until Moira glared at him with a reprimanding expression, upon which he hesitantly took a small spoon of fruits. It tasted like sawdust, and seemed to become more in his mouth with every second. Once he had finally managed to swallow it down, bile rose in his throat.

Somehow, he was really frustrated with himself. Why did he allow Moira to have this much of an impact on him? Wasn't he stronger than to let a little torture break him? On the other hand, he understood why this was so much harder than any other torture session he'd had so far. Every single thing they did to him had been much more personal, after all. And that only added to his frustration.

"Now, Oliver, tell us: What happened to you? We were very worried."

His eyes snapped to Moira's. What more did she want? She couldn't just stop at torturing him, no, now she also needed to make sure to see her plan through to the end by making him lie to Thea all over again.

He turned his gaze to his sister. Thea was watching him closely, expectantly. He really had no other choice.

"I, uh, I got into the chaos in the Glades... and I managed to get hurt. I'm sorry I didn't contact you any sooner, but I was out cold until a few hours ago, and then I tried to get here as soon as I could."

That, at least, wasn't a lie, not really. He had been involved in what happened in the Glades, and he definitely got hurt in it. He just wasn't so sure it was enough to satisfy the two women.

Apparently it wasn't. And this time it was Thea who said something, which made lying that much harder.

"Yeah, Ollie, that much is pretty obvious. But what exactly was it that happened to you? After all, you are hurt really badly! Don't you understand that we care for you and are worried when you keep disappearing like that, and then show up injured and without so much as an actual explanation? To me, it felt like five years ago all over again. Why the hell can't you see that your actions have consequences for the people around you, too?"

Thea sounded completely enraged, out of her mind in worry and anger. She shot a dark glare at Oliver, and Moira nodded in confirmation.

Oliver felt like the worst brother ever. He wished nothing more than to take Thea aside and tell her everything that happened, the whole truth, but he couldn't do that. Here, with Moira listening to his every word, he had to lie to her yet again.

"I was at Verdant," he said hesitantly, "when I heard the first earthquake. I went up to the street, and when people were running around in panic and shouting, I immediately got on my motorcycle and drove off, intending to get back here, when a house collapsed right in front of me. I remember trying to pull the brakes, but not much after that.

When I woke up in the hospital, I was still really out of it, but I recall being confused by the commotion all around me. I guess that with as many people as they had to treat, they didn't have the time to call any emergency contacts. Anyways, as soon as I realized what exactly had happened, I got out of there as fast as possible to come back to you."

The last words he directed solely at Thea, looking her in the eyes and trying a small, reassuring smile before turning around to Moira, half-searching for her approval of his story.

Moira's smile was one of utter superiority. She was almost amazed by how well her plan was working out. But then again, she had been the one to set it all up. Of course it was working the way she wanted it to.

"Well, I am glad you're back." Thea smiled, touching his arm lightly. This was her way of saying "You are forgiven." But would she forgive him once he told her about how many lies he'd kept from her, too?

"Yes, me too." he answered with a smile. "But it's also been a rough day and night, and I'm really exhausted. Would you mind if I went up to my room for a while?"

Oliver had no idea how he should possibly be able to spend any more time at one table with Moira. The look in her eyes made him want to hide, or puke, and he was already hurting all over. He saw no reason to prolong his torture anymore. Most of all, however, he still wanted to talk to his baby sister. And, like, really talk. Not this pretending, half-lying game Moira made him play.

"But, sweetheart, you have barely eaten anything. Surely you must be hungry, after what you went through." Moira moved to lay her hand over Oliver's, but that was one step too far. He would not let her touch him if he could prevent it, not ever again.

Pretending to scratch his neck, Oliver withdrew his hand. He could not quite hide how his fingers trembled, and Moira definitely saw it, too, if her self-confident smile was anything to go by.

Looking away, he said "I don't know. I'm not feeling too well. I'll eat some more a little later, I think."

For a moment, Moira looked as though she wanted to object to that as well. But with one glance at Thea she seemed to realize that that would be far too suspicious. After all, she did not want to damage _her_ relationship with her daughter. Only Oliver's.

"You just call if you need anything, alright?" she said with a smile that was probably supposed to be kind, but felt more like she had twisted a knife thrust into his gut to Oliver.

He managed nothing more than a small nod as a reply, then jumped up and limped out of the room as fast as possible, using the wall to stabilize himself when the world swam out of focus for a few seconds.

He had little memory of how he got up the stairs since his vision was switching between going fuzzy from the tears that were rising in his eyes and blacking out completely, but suddenly found himself in front of the door to his room. He barely managed to push it open and rush to the adjacent bathroom before his tiny breakfast came right back up. He threw himself over the toilet bowl, heaving and coughing, and expelled bile and what little else he had in his stomach.

When he let himself fall down to the floor afterwards, Oliver was pale and sweaty, hurting all over. A tear made its way down his right cheek, followed by more. There was virtually no way of closing the dams now.

He hadn't thought it would be that hard, he suddenly realized. He had barely been able to look at his other, much less talk to her. If it was up to him, he would never go back down there again.

Just as he was considering getting up to call Diggle for a rescue, a strong banging could be heard from the door to his room. _Oh God, please no._, he thought, pushing himself off the floor painstakingly slowly.

"I'm coming!" he called out, trying – in vain – to force his voice to sound steady and strong. Limping towards the sink, he wet his face to remove the traces of vomit and tears from his skin, but could do nothing about his ashen complexion or his puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

Steeling himself with as deep a breath as he could manage under all the bruises and broken bones, he pushed the door open. But against his expectations, he didn't have to face Moira again. Instead, Thea stood in front of him, her arm half-raised to knock again, ever-so-impatiently. She looked slightly startled at first, but her expression changed to one of utter concern and worry when she saw her brother swaying on the spot, as pale as the wall behind him. In her typical impulsive fashion, she grabbed Oliver's un-braced arm, pulled him over to his bed and guided him down before sitting next to him.

"What the hell is..." she started, then composed herself and tried again. "There is something more to the story you told us, isn't there? Ever since you came back, you look like you've seen a ghost, and like it's still haunting you. And now that?" she pointed towards the bathroom, from which a strong smell of vomit emanated. "C'mon, Ollie, I'm your sister. You know you can tell me anything, right?

At that, a strangled mix between a sob and a groan left Oliver's throat. He fully turned to look at Thea, unshed tears making his eyes glow.

"But, you're not..." he whispered, and the tears started falling.

**NOTES: Comments make me happy and might just (no promises) give me more motivation to finish this... Thanks**


	13. Chapter 13

NOTES: Hi guys, I'm finally back! Sorry it took so long...  
But, on the bright side, the story is finished now, so you won't have to wait for chapters anymore...;-)  
I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it may not be as well-written as the others. I might have said it before, but I kind of lost interest in that fandom, which made finishing this story a lot harder... But, really, it were your comments and kudos that kept me going! So thx for staying with me for the ride, everyone!  
Enjoy!

Thea stared at Oliver with an incredulous expression, her mouth agape. He was bent over, his arms wrapped around his chest, heaving with breathless sobs while tears ran over his cheeks.

Thea didn't really know what to think, what to do. Seeing her brother like that was a completely foreign experience to her. All his life, but especially since he came back from the island, he had been guarded with his emotions, particularly the negative ones. Thea could barely remember the last time she'd seen him cry, much less like that.

"Hey, Ollie, look at me." she demanded quietly, placing one hand on his shoulder. At first, Oliver recoiled from her touch, but then settled a little and hesitantly turned around to face his sister.

"I really... just need you to tell me what is going on, okay? I can't read your thoughts, Ollie, but I think I need to know them to help you. Right?" Taking one of Oliver's hands in hers, she saw the bandage more closely where his sweater had ridden up. How did anyone damage his wrist so that it only needed to be wrapped directly, not braced like a sprain or fracture, in an accident?

Oliver swallowed hard. He had wanted to get to this situation all morning, but now that he sat in front of his sister and she was ready to listen to him, he didn't know where to start. So he just used his thumb to draw fine circles on her wrist for a while, considering his next words carefully because he certainly had not planned on blurting the worst part out like that. No, he had wanted to tell his baby sister the whole story as gently as possible with what he was about to say to her. But once again, he'd screwed it up.

"Alright... uh... I guess I should start at the beginning, shouldn't I? At the point that changed my life – our lives – forever. The moment the Queen's gambit left Starling City.

The moment I saw you last before living through five years of hell."

Thea looked at him, one eyebrow drawn up as though she wanted to ask what that had to do with everything. But in the end, she decided on staying silent and letting her brother finish his story. He would get to the point, eventually.

"But... you knew all that. What I didn't tell you is that, through all those years, I was never alone. And the people I met... they shaped the me that came back here.

The island was hell. But it was also a place of rebirth. And I want you to meet the person that was born there from the ashes of the playboy Ollie Queen." Maybe he was being a bit overdramatic, Oliver thought. At the very least, it had to seem like that. But, honestly, this was exactly what his time on Lian Yu had felt like.

"Dad... he didn't die in the storm. He... I... We made it on a life raft, together. He..."

At that point, Thea couldn't stay silent any longer. "Oliver, what the hell!? Why on earth would you lie to us for all this time about something like that?" She was outraged, yelling loudly. Oliver winced, hoping that Moira hadn't heard them.

"Thea, I'm sorry. I would have told you before, I just couldn't bring myself to relive... all that happened after."

"Then why tell me now?"

Oliver sighed. "Because I can't stay silent any longer. I want you to know everything about me. I don't want any more secrets between the two of us." He fell silent for a moment. "I'm not gonna lie. What I'm about to tell you will be a lot to take in. But I think it's time you knew it all."

Thea looked at her brother, considering how to answer. Finally, she settled on reassuring him. "I'll be okay. Nothing's worse than knowing that there's something you aren't telling me, but not knowing why."

"Alright, um... To make it short... On the raft, Dad told me to 'right his wrongs', before... before killing his bodyguard a-and himself in order to better my odds at survival. It... this sacrifice was the only thing that made me last until I reached the island. Not only would the water not have been enough for all three of us, it also gave me... motivation, a reason to push on through all those years. To make it back home, if only to fulfil his dying wish. And that wish... it's the reason I have been so closed off since I returned.

On the island – Lian Yu – I had to learn to fight, to defend myself. The playboy I once was wouldn't have survived this place. I needed to become... someone else. And upon my return, it only seemed reasonable to apply these skills to defend my – our – city against those who wronged it."

He paused, throwing a careful look at Thea. The gears were turning almost visibly in her head. Oliver could watch how her eyes closed into slits once she came to the only reasonable conclusion.

"You... Are you... The hooded vigilante running around in the city... That's YOU!" She seemed to find confirmation in his eyes, and so she continued right away. "But that means... you killed all those people! You threatened Mom! I... why would you do those things? That does not seem like protection to me."

Oliver looked at his knees, his left hand clenching to form a tight fist. He'd been worried about Thea judging him. But, on the other hand, he understood where she came from. Thea never had to fight for her life before. He owed her an explanation.

"I... for a long time, killing was the only way for me to survive. It started out as self-defence, really. And when I returned... The people I killed did horrible things; they deserved what happened to them." Thea's forehead was wrinkled into a disapproving look. But she did not object just yet. She'd hear Oliver out, and then tell him her opinion.

Oliver took a deep breath. The first part was over. The one that was yet to come would be so much worse...

"And about Mom... What happened yesterday was not just an earthquake. It was a plot, planned over a long period of time... A plan to deliberately level the Glades to destroy the poorer part of the city. A means to making Starling City great again, or so they said.

And two of the heads behind this scheme – are Malcolm Merlyn and... and Moira Queen."

No longer able to sit still, Thea jumped off the bed. Tears gleamed in her eyes, which were opened widely. Her hand was trembling as she pointed an accusatory finger at Oliver.

"No! No, that can't be true! I... I don't know what has gotten into you, in which kind of delusion you're stuck, but I don't believe a word you're saying. Mom may not have always been the perfect mother since you DIED, but never... never would she be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people! Do you even get what you're accusing her of? I can't even look at you right now. I... I'll go downstairs and talk to..."

"No!" Oliver interrupted her, his voice taking on a desperate tone. He stood up himself, stumbling as he tried to bear his weight on his injured legs, and stretched out a hand towards his sister. His face fell when she stepped back out of his reach, tears welling up in his own eyes.

"No, please, don't. I... I know it's hard to believe, I know what I'm saying seems like a lie – trust me, I wish I were lying right now – but it isn't, okay? P-please, just hear me out until the end. If you still don't believe me then, I'll not keep you back. But, please... I promise I'm telling the truth."

This was exactly what Moira had told him would happen. And Oliver couldn't... he could not lose his sister, the only real family he had left, too. His breathing sped up as he waited for Thea to make a decision. He balled his hands into fists to hide their tremble, but doubted that it was of much use with how strong the tremors wracking his body were.

"Please..." he whispered once more, brokenly, and finally Thea reacted.

"Sit." she demanded with a cool voice, pointing towards the bed.

"Talk."

Oliver did exactly as she'd asked, afraid to break the sliver of thin ice they stood on. Because Thea remained standing, her arms crossed over her chest, he looked up to her, trying a wobbly smile.

"When I first found out about her connection to the events, I couldn't believe it, either. I went to question her, and she only spoke about us... begging me not to kill her so we wouldn't be all alone. I believed her, and got shot for it. Still, I only counted that for a desperate action without deeper meaning except Moira trying to protect herself and, in consequence, us.

And then... two nights ago... I was sedated and kidnapped from my room. And when I came to... Malcolm and Moira stood over me, and told me all about their 'achievements'. I... I didn't want to believe it... I tried to talk some sense into her... But she wouldn't listen, and instead physically and m-mentally tortured me while... blowing half of the city to a-ashes."

The tears now streamed down Oliver's cheeks, and he turned his face away in a futile attempt to hide them.

"I don't know w-what else to tell you. I-I bear the marks all over my body, and Thea, I would NEVER make something like that up! I... never..." he tapered off in a sob, hugging his arms around himself again. He didn't dare looking up again, afraid of Thea's reaction. After a few minutes of silence, he felt a small pressure at his side.

"I believe you." Thea whispered into the silence. "I... I don't understand how it's possible, or why she did it... But I believe you. And I already thought the way she acted at breakfast was strange, I just couldn't make sense of it. I just... can you tell me one reason why she would do any such thing?"

Oliver looked up, the tears making his eyes gleam. Hope fluttered like a small bird in his chest.

"You... you do? I... God, Thea, thank you. I would not have known what to do if you didn't believe me. And, as for her reasons... I believe that Dad's – and, in a way, my own – death broke her, and Merlyn managed to manipulate her. Over the five years I was gone, she obsessed over these plans as a way of honouring Dad, maybe? And then I returned, and now... she hates me, Thea! She told me I wasn't her son, told me not to call her Mom anymore. And I... I can't help thinking that it was me who drove her to such horrible actions." he confessed quietly, biting his bottom lip.

Thea moved even closer, wrapping her arms around her brother's shoulders. "It wasn't your fault, Ollie. You couldn't have changed anything. It's gonna be alright."

Another heavy sob escaped Oliver, and then he really broke down in Thea's arms, clinging tightly to her until tears streamed down Thea's face, too, from watching her brother's despair.

"But, Ollie, you know that Mom's words won't change the fact that you are my brother, and I AM your sister, okay? You can't let her words get to you like that."

If possible, Oliver started crying even harder, now. "But..." he whispered. "But that isn't all. I... While they had me, they told me one more thing. Moira and Malcolm... nineteen years ago, they had an affair, and as a result... y-you... you were... Thea..."

Stunned, Thea stared at Oliver. Her mouth moved silently, trying to form the words neither of them could speak. "You... you mean..." she whispered before falling silent again. Oliver carefully untangled himself from the hug, moving away a little. He couldn't look Thea in the eyes anymore.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Thea seemed to come to a decision. She straightened up, moving off the bed to kneel down in front of Oliver, carefully putting her hands on his cheeks.

"Ollie, it doesn't matter who my biological parents are. You have always been my brother, and you will continue to be, for the rest of my life! You're the one who always told me stupid stories when I couldn't sleep. You're the one who helped me put all my insane plans in motion, Hell, I told you about the first crush I had before anyone else knew. So don't say I'm not your sister, just because we may not share the same father. I could take everything you've told me so far, but I could not bear that. Okay?"

With tears streaming down his face, it was Oliver's turn to pull Thea, his sister, his baby SISTER, closer to him.

"Okay." he murmured, beyond grateful and relieved. "Okay, okay. I've got you. Sister." A smile broke through his tears. "We're going to be fine."

After a few minutes, Thea softly patted Oliver's back and stood up. He barely felt the pain, every nerve ending thrumming in relief. At the determined look on his sister's face he frowned, wiping the tears away.

"What is it, Speedy?" he asked.

"Moira." she explained with a grim expression. "It's time she got what she deserved. Come on, we'll confront her together."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, after all... she still is your mother."

"After what she's done to you, she is no more my mother than Merlyn is my father. You, Oliver, are family, and I will not hesitate to stand up for you."

"Thank you." Oliver answered with a smile, slowly standing up. "Let's do this."

They left the room together, Thea allowing Oliver to lean on her when they reached the stairs. Now that the adrenaline from telling his story faded, the pain came back at full force.

When they had finally reached the bottom, Thea stepped forward into the living room and, upon not immediately spotting Moira, yelled her name at the top of her lungs with an anger that startled even Oliver.

"What is it, Thea-baby?" Moira cooed as she strolled into the room. When she spotted Thea's expression and Oliver leaning against the wall behind her, faded tear tracks on his cheeks, she turned towards him, kindness morphing into a hateful snarl.

"What the hell did you do?" she spat, taking a menacing step towards him. "I told you what would happen, and yet you just have to go ahead and destroy everything, don't you? You're such an useless piece..."

That was enough for Thea to hear. She stepped in Moira's path, pushing her back with both hands set against her chest and yelled "You don't get to talk to him like that ever again, do you hear me? Ollie told me everything, and the only one who destroyed anything here were you! I want you to stay the hell away from him. I want you to stay away from both of us!"

For a moment, Moira was quiet, staring at her children with an unreadable expression. Then, she put on a soft smile and moved forward to Thea again.

"You don't understand, baby. He did horrible things. He killed people! He even tried to kill me, do you understand? If I hadn't been able to defend myself, I would never have seen you again. I love you, Thea, but ever since he came back from that horrible place, Oliver has only tried to break our family bonds. He isn't the brother you remember. He's an abominable creature that would betray you without second thought if it served his plans."

At those words, Oliver let out a soft sob and recoiled against the wall, shaking. All those horrible things that were said about him... What if Thea believed Moira over him, after all?

But once again his sister defied his expectations. She turned away from Moira and towards him, placing a warm, soft hand on his cheek.

"Don't listen to her, Ollie." she whispered. "Nothing she says is true. You are an amazing person, brave, kind, loving. You are my brother. I know you would never do anything to hurt me."

He turned red-rimmed eyes towards her, giving a shaky nod. Thea answered with a smile and a wink of her left eye before once again facing Moira. Her eyes were ice-cold as she regarded the woman, and as was her voice, like frozen, polished steel.

"I do not want to see you, ever again, Moira. You will have exactly five minutes to grab your most necessary belongings, and then you'll leave this house, and you will leave Starling City. I don't care where you will go, I don't care what you'll do, but if either one of us ever so much as hears from you again, we are going to come after you, and we'll tell the whole story of what really happened to the city to the police. Is that understood?"

"Thea..." Moira said, a hint of despair now finally creeping into her voice. But Thea interrupted her again.

"Be glad you're getting another chance, Moira. God knows you haven't deserved it. But say one more word to either of us, and that chance will be over."

For a second, Moira looked as though she wanted to protest. But something in Thea's eyes seemed to convince her that it would be the wrong choice, and so she turned around, walking up the stairs.

Both Thea and Oliver let out a long breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

"You okay with waiting outside?" Thea asked her brother, holding out her arm for him to brace himself. Oliver gave a soft nod, and soon after, they found themselves in the bright morning sun.

With a soft hiss, Oliver sunk onto the stone steps, leaning sideways against the banister. Thea sat down next to him, touching his knee.

"You okay?" she asked softly, blinking into the warm sunlight.

"I'm much better, now." Oliver responded. Then, after a long moment, he added "You're pretty badass, you know that?"

Thea laughed, a freed, joyful sound. "Well, I had a pretty good example, didn't I?" she answered, and now Oliver laughed, too.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Thea asked "But do you think it'll be enough? Sending her away, I mean. What if she does come back?"

"I think she was pretty baffled by the fact that you sided with me. Hearing from you that you didn't want her here... That sure made an impression, I believe. An even if she comes back, I've got friends to help us show her that your threat wasn't to be taken lightly. We'll be alright."

Thea smiled. "I can't wait to meet them."

"I'm sure you will soon enough." Oliver responded just as Moira stepped out of the door, her face set into a grim grimace.

She didn't even look at the siblings sitting on the stairs as she rushed past them towards her chair, her driver speeding off after only a few words from her.

Softly, Oliver took hold of his sister's hand as they watched the car disappear in the distance. Most of the city was still in ruins, and their relationship, as well as Oliver's mental state, was still fragile. But together they would manage all obstacles that lay ahead of them.

And that was a certainty.

NOTES: So, that's it... What do you guys think?


End file.
